I Think I Love You
by Hestia01
Summary: When Harry leaves for a few days, Bob and Murphy meet. Can an ordinary person love someone who's dead? Special thanks go to my beta, Dawn, who took this hot mess and made it work!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Dresden Files. Characters are property of Jim Butcher and the SciFi channel. I simply do unspeakable things to them for my own amusement. Enjoy!**

Harry Dresden checks his suitcase one last time; he doesn't want to be halfway out of city limits and realize he forgot something. Bob looms over his shoulder with a doubtful scowl.

"Now, I'll just be gone a few days. Sounds like a simple fix, from what our client told me over the phone. It's about a three hour drive each way. I'm not too worried."

"And where is this again?" Bob inquires, his arms folded over his chest.

"Some little town near the Iowa border. They have lots of old houses, historical sort of place. They've been having some...activity. Some concerned citizens found me from a web search, apparently. Thought I could take a look, clear out the spooks."

This doesn't sit well with the resident ghost. "I take exception to that remark," he drawls.

Harry looks up over his shoulder at his friend. "There's a difference; you know that. If they're just...people like you, I'll just see if we can do things diplomatically. If they're malevolent, though, I'm ready for that, too." He sees Bob roll his eyes with his usual petulant pout. "You know I don't have anything against ghosts, Bob. I live with you for Pete's sake."

"I still don't see why this is any of your business. Why don't they find a specialist, someone local?"

Zipping up his suitcase one last time, Harry turns around and points at him. "It's my business because it _is_ business. All right? You're the one who's always nagging me about getting clients."

Bob has to agree with that. In truth, he's been objecting to the assignment from the start mostly because he's never been left alone for so long, not since Harry had taken ownership of him. Damned if he'd tell the wizard that his only real problem would be missing him.

Harry shoulders his bag and heads downstairs with his ghost at his heels. "I gave Murphy a spare key so she'll be here to water the plants and bring in the mail. You can enjoy the view," he adds with a grin. He knows Bob's fondness for the ladies.

Now this makes the old sorcerer brighten up a bit. He got a glimpse of her a few months ago when Harry was kidnapped. Pretty little thing, but if Harry is to be believed, she's not to be underestimated. Still, he licks his lips with a rakish grin as he ponders the prospect of her stopping by.

"I'll probably be back on Friday. I'll call, okay?"

"Good luck. Try to stay out of trouble," Bob advises in farewell.

Not long after Harry's Jeep vanishes down the street, Lieutenant Murphy arrives. She tries the doorknob, as though she's hoping to catch Harry before he leaves on his trip, and then puts her key in the lock. Bob hesitates for the one second it would have taken him to vaporize, and the two see each other. They fix each other with identical deer-in-the-headlights expressions, both taken completely unawares.

"Oh, hi. Is Harry still here?"

"Ah, no. You just missed him, actually. He'll be on his way by now. I'm his associate, Bob," he introduces smoothly.

She nods in his direction with a dubious look. "Does he know you're here?"

"Oh, yes. He told me to expect you."

Murphy ponders this, gesturing meaninglessly in the air. "If you're here, why's he need me to water his plants and stuff?"

"I kill plants," he answers simply with a shrug.

For some reason, this brings a smile to Murphy's lips. She fills the watering can at the sink and tends to the greenery. Curious, she reads the tags on some of them. Sage, she recognizes, but others...

"Mugwort, vervain, dragon's blood..." She gives Bob a questioning look.

"All useful herbs, particularly in our field. We find it easier to, as they say, 'grow our own' rather than rely on other means of distribution. More often than not, such businesses would send counterfeit products, which are utterly useless to our needs.

"Right..."

Bob finds the woman's puzzled expression to be most endearing. He smiles at her openly, wishing he were corporeal. He wonders what she feels like, smells like...the sunlight catches her hair and gleams golden around her. He gives a soft sigh of longing as she turns aside to tend to the other plants. There's something familiar about her, but he can't put his finger on it.

"Have you known Harry for long?" Murphy asks. "I don't think I've seen you here before."

"Yes, we do tend to miss each other, don't we? I've known him since...since his father died. I was his teacher for several years. Then...when I had nowhere else to go, he took me in." As Bob relates their summarized history, Murphy looks touched. These two admittedly strange men have taken care of each other for the past twenty years. It strikes her as sweet, that someone who appears to be the consummate loner would have such a longstanding relationship with this gentleman. She wonders briefly what it is. Might Bob perhaps be a surrogate parent to Harry? A business partner, a friend?

"That's good. I know he doesn't have any family left, so the fact that you two have each other...that's great."

She smiles again, like she really means it. It catches Bob off guard and he wanders back behind the island, clearing his throat roughly.

"I'm glad I finally get to meet you properly, Miss Murphy. Harry hardly talks about anyone else. I know the two of you had a fair bit of...complications, if you will, but it seems they've been smoothed over."

"Yeah..." Murphy breathes, still unconsciously grinning at the fair, handsome man, "Yeah, we have. He's a good friend. Too good to lose to...complications." It takes her a full minute to realize a silence has crept up on them. "You're, uh...you're staring."

"Just enjoying the view, my dear. Harry never told me how lovely you are."

This makes Murphy squirm. She's never been openly admired in a genuine way. Any talk of that sort has usually been from less than honorable men with one thing on their minds. Of course, no such observations were made in quite the same manner as Bob doled out. It makes her think it might be for real.

She scoffs lightly, "Thanks."

With his hands on his hips, Bob quirks an eyebrow at her response. "I meant that as a compliment, Miss Murphy. If that was too forward..."

"No, no. It's...fine." Still, she doesn't know what to make of this strange, old man. She'd never been accused of having daddy-issues, never dated anyone significantly older than her, but something about him set her strangely at ease. Like they know each other already.

"It's been a while. A very long while, I admit," Bob tells her. "Harry thinks I've gone peculiar."

This makes Murphy giggle. His woebegone expression at such a possibility, the deadpan delivery, it was sad and comical at the same time. "I'm sure you're all right. We're all a little strange, aren't we? That's what separates us from game show hosts."

_Game show hosts?_ He wonders silently. Still, he tries to act in the know. He makes a wild guess and hopes it's along the same lines. "Oh, yes. Or street hawkers."

Another rare laugh from the cop. Bob worriedly wonders if she's laughing _at_ him rather than with him. Then... "I like you, Bob," Murphy declares. "And I can see now that you're just right for Harry." For some reason, she doesn't want to leave just yet. She gets the feeling the older gentleman is trying to charm her and for now she's going to let him! "So, what do you use these for?" she asks, gesturing to the herb garden.

"Mugwort is good for the mind; it helps clear it and lends itself well to..." Bob stumbles here, trying to find a better word for astral projection. "It's a good...booster. Vervain is protective, it's written that sleeping with a sprig of vervain under your pillow keeps bad dreams at bay. Dragon's blood...well, when in doubt, throw in some dragon's blood," he grins matter-of-factly.

"I like that one. It has pretty leaves."

"You should see the looks we get from some people."

Murphy leans over the counter, "So, what exactly do you do with Harry's...wizard business?"

"I serve as a consultant, a loremaster. I have perfect memory. It's served me well."

"So you really believe in all this...magic stuff that Harry does?" Murphy questions.

Bob doesn't flinch, he crosses his arms and draws himself up, "I taught Harry 'all this magic stuff' that he does."

If she'd been looking for an invitation to rag on her friend's eccentricity, it's apparently dashed right there. "Oh," she answers shortly, a little embarrassed.

"You would do well to not assume others are going to agree with you, dear lady," he advises confidentially. "Magic is very serious business, despite not being particularly lucrative. It's nothing to snigger at, thank you very much."

Murphy straightens back up, not sure what to say to this. "Sorry," she mutters. It's one thing to tease Harry about being a self-proclaimed wizard; it's another to deal it out to this distinguished-looking person. He obviously takes himself seriously.

The former sorcerer suddenly waves it aside, unconcerned. "Oh, don't worry about it. We're used to the abuse. Still, a bit of respect would go a long way, wouldn't you agree?" Murphy nods, still looking uncomfortable. Bob recognizes this and tries to set her back at ease. "It's all right."

"So..." she grasps blindly at something to talk about, "Do you have family in Chicago?"

A wistful smirk crosses his lips, and he sighs softly. "No. No other friends, either. Just Harry. We do all right, though. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself without him here, to be honest. I suspect it will be...quiet."

Sensing a possible opening, Murphy suggests, "You know, if you;d like...that is, if you don't mind, I could hang out here for a bit while he's away, when I'm not working." She's still not sure what's drawn her to him so much. He looks twice her age, possibly a borderline dingbat like Harry, but still...he has a nice smile, an enticing voice, and a certain old-world charm about him. It couldn't do any harm to keep the old man company while his only friend in the world is away.

"I...I'd like that very much, Miss Murphy. Thank you."

"You can teach me about your magic herbs," she proposes with a grin.

Bob chuckles softly at this. "Yes, well...we'll see."

"Oh, and just call me Murphy. My work friends all do."

This makes Bob curl a lip disdainfully. "No, I couldn't call you that. It's certainly not fit for a lady."

Murphy laughs, tossing her hair back and fiddling with her necklace chain. "I'm not sure anyone would call me a lady."

He gazes at her thoughtfully, taking in her lovely visage. He has to stop himself from reaching out to her. "I would."

She looks up, startled at his frankness. He's certainly of a different mold than other men she's known. He isn't heaping her with baseless compliments; as strange as his assertions may be, he sounds sincere. Strange man... She gives him a faltering smile. Then her eyes are drawn to the skull on the other end of the counter. "What's that?"

Bob looks in the same direction. "That? Oh, that's my skull."

"That's yours?" Bob nods, hoping she won't question him too much about it. "When did you get that thing?"

Knowing the actual answer would horrify her, he answers as honestly as possible. He strolls over towards it, mimes that he's laying a hand on it with a smirk. "I've had it for...quite some time. I'm...rather attached to it." He imagines Harry groaning at his bad pun. How he wishes he could be here to bail him out of this!

Murphy approaches it, and Bob steps away to avoid going through her. She touches it gingerly, stroking the top, down its cheeks. She doesn't notice that Bob's eyes drift closed pleasurably as she does this. "Very lifelike. It's so real!"

"It _is_ real, my dear, so do be careful with it. It's very old."

Her face and voice drop significantly, "It's real?" Murphy makes a wry face as she sets the skull back down. "That...that's a real dead guy's head?"

Scowling now himself, Bob regards her coldly. "Yes. That is a real dead guy's head, as you so eloquently put it. It's very old, and very valuable."

"Is it Harry's, too?"

With an annoyed huff, the old ghost grouses, "Yes, as a matter of fact. We both have some claim to ownership of it. Let's just say it's a shared asset and leave it at that."

By now, Murphy gets the hint that she's made a mess of things. "Look, I'm sorry. All this...stuff is just kind of weird, you know? I can't navigate it like you probably can. I didn't mean any offense, and if I hurt you or offended you I'm sorry."

The two had taken to each other so well from the start, that Bob is more than prepared to forgive her transgression. _She doesn't know any better; she's a civilian_, he reminds himself. "I understand, Miss Murphy. Harry has the same problem sometimes. He speaks at random without thinking and really sticks his foot in it. He seldom means any harm, but it's not always easy to take back." Bob peers at her with a growing smile as he openly admires her. "All other things aside, I expect we'll be very good friends." _Steady, old man, don't scare her off,_ he advises himself. _How thoughtful of Harry to wrap up this tender little morsel for me. He should leave town more often!_

"Well, it was nice meeting you, but I'd better get going. Will you be here tomorrow?"

"I can safely say yes to that. You can pretty much find me here any time."

Murphy reaches out to shake his hand, but he backs away sharply with a startled gasp. Instead, she waves, "See you, then."

"Until the morrow, dear lady," he murmurs.

With a light scoff, she shakes her head and lets herself out. After she leaves, Bob stares out the window after her, at the very end of his tether.

As Murphy walks home, she keeps replaying her encounter with Harry's unusual friend. She supposes any friend of Harry's would be a bit of a nut, but he struck her as a harmless one. The way he dressed, the way he talked...it suited him perfectly. Thinking about it, she's almost disappointed that someone like that would have a common name like Bob. It's only after she gets home that she wonders why someone as naturally charismatic as her new friend would be so alone. What if he has a cellar full of dead bodies or some creepy secret like that? Murphy shudders. It doesn't add up. _Great, the first man I hit it off with in years and he's a possible Norman Bates. Still, that's only one possibility. _She slips out of her shoes and changes into a T-shirt and lounge pants. With no gruesome or mysterious cases to plague her evening for once, she can actually enjoy a night to herself. Thinking back over her conversation with Bob about their herb garden, she decides to look a few things up. If he's as hopeless at keeping plants alive as he says he is, maybe a little more info would help. She turns on her laptop and looks up mugwort. The top few pages it suggests are all for occult shops. It's not very pricey, and its list of uses is extensive. There is a warning against pregnant women using it, but nothing more alarming than that. It takes a bit more digging, but she finds a little more information on growing the wizards' plants. They don't seem to require any special care beyond water and sunlight; she smirks at Bob's certainty that he kills plants. She wonders how many gardens have withered at the man's fingertips.

That evening, at Harry Dresden's shop, the phone rings. Finally, the answering machine picks up and Bob is treated to his master's voice.

"Hi, Bob, it's Harry. Just calling to let you know I landed in. Hope you're not too bored. Oh, if you go in the lab, I copied out a few chapters of one of your books so you don't have to stick your head in the cover. I know you hate it when it spoils the ending. Don't scare Murphy. See you in a couple of days. Buh-bye."

The ghost smiles fondly at the blinking contraption, then heads down to the lab to read in a halfway normal way. _Harry Dresden is many things, but he's certainly thoughtful at times._ He looks around the walls at the copied pages he's taped up. He forces himself to read slowly, since rushing would do him no good. He settles in for the night, wholly absorbed in his latest Gothic murder mystery. Bob grins appreciatively. Harry had picked a good dirty one, too. _He knows me too well._

Bob spends the next several hours putzing around the empty shop. Finally, he retires to his skull with a sigh. He promises himself he'll read more the next day, but he wants to make it last over the time he has alone. In his skull, he loses his standard concept of time, whiling it away in thought. He finds himself thinking of Lieutenant Murphy. He's glad he was able to meet her, and they seemed to hit it off. He wonders when she'll realize what he is. Bob grows cold at the thought. Most people don't like ghosts. Perhaps it will only come up after they've cemented a comfortable enough repartee. Once she knows him a bit better, it might not matter that he happens to be dead. This prospect cheers him back up as he lets his imagination take flight. Thoughts of his new friend keep him company for many long hours, until through his eye socket he catches a glimpse of daylight. Its morning! Of course, it will still be several more hours before he can expect Murphy to come back. His spirit shivers with anticipation as he wafts out of his enclosure. Bob stretches pointlessly, and as a treat to himself he goes to read a bit more of his novel.

His chin in his hands, Bob's eyes rove hungrily over a particularly explicit passage. This author didn't waste any time cutting to the chase! He finds himself imagining Murphy in the leading role of the sweet and seductive chamber maid, and himself opposite her as the wily duke. He reads it over again with a dark chuckle. _Harry really knows me too well,_ he admits again. Before he gets too far into it, Bob stops himself, reminding himself he still has two more days alone, with precious little to keep him occupied. He makes a mental note to thank Harry for the book. It's certainly right up his alley.

Completely lost in his vivid daydreams, Bob is soon startled to hear a knocking at the door. Then the turning of a key...footsteps...

He emerges into the front room and smiles as he sees Murphy wander in. "Hi, Bob," she greets him brightly. "Are you just getting in? Sure is a nice day for once."

"I was in the back room." He thinks hard to find something to convey how happy he is to see her without sounding creepy. Unable to think of something sensible, he simply agrees with her remark. "It certainly looks like it's going to be a pleasant day. I hope you won't be stuck at work the whole time."

Murphy pulls up a chair comfortably, gazing up at him, "Oh, you know. If I wasn't holding the place together..."

"Oh, yes, I understand. The inmates would be running the asylum." His old joke is rewarded with a genuine laugh, heartening him considerably. _My god, it's been so long. I can barely remember the last time I got to talk to a woman like this._

Then, Murphy looks like she's just remembered something. She digs in her purse and produces a few sheets of paper. "Hey, I did a little reading on your plants last night. A lot of the sources were...interesting." The sites she visited during her search that were not strictly botanical were all for occult shops and groups. She lays the pages out on the coffee table and Bob bends over her shoulder to peer at them. "Is...is all of that really true? What they're for?" The fact that multiple sources attested to the herbs' magical properties is starting to make it easier to believe.

"Yes," the ghost drawls casually, looking over at the row of pots and then back at his new friend. "They certainly seem happier today, don't you think?"

With a lopsided grin, Murphy detects a double-entendre. "Maybe they just needed a little extra company. I don't think...plants like being alone all the time."

"No, they don't. And nothing brightens up one's spirits and...desire to thrive...like a little female attention."

They're definitely flirting now. It's past the point of either one of them pretending otherwise. Both of them titter shyly and try not to stare at each other. Finally, Murphy stands with a sharp breath and examines the plants. She gives the soil a poke, feeling the leaves. "I don't think they need anything done to them today." They cast each other fond gazes over the herbs. They're finding that conversation isn't necessary at the moment. Suddenly, she checks her watch. "I'd better run; I'm on my lunch break."

"Feel free to stop by after work, if you'd like," Bob offers, hoping he doesn't sound as desperate as he thinks he does. "Oh, come here. Take a snip from this one right here." Obediently, Murphy finds a small scissors and clips off a small cluster of leaves from the mugwort plant. "Dry it out in your oven; it makes excellent tea. Very soothing. It...untangles the mind."

Folding the clipping up in a shopping list she has in her pocket, Murphy nods gratefully. "Sounds like just what the doctor ordered. It won't really make me...astral project, will it?" she asks with a nervous laugh.

Bob chuckles lightly, "No, not if you don't want to. That takes serious intent, not often done by accident."

"Good. Well, thank you." She turns to leave and Bob calls after her.

"Do be kind enough to lock up on the way out, I'm in the office today," he points back behind him.

Murphy nods and waves on her way out. She locks the door and heads back to the station.

At work, Murphy finds an opportunity to stop for a bit. She takes the slip of paper out of her pocket and gives the mugwort a sniff. It even smells calming. She looks forward to getting home to brew it up.

Several hours later, Murphy is still at work. It's shaping up to be a long night. She decides to stretch her legs and head into the break room. One of the guys brought in a toaster oven from home for them to toast sandwiches. It gives her an idea; she cleans off the tray and sprinkles her herbs on it. Popping it into the toaster oven, she keeps a careful eye on it so it doesn't start to burn. After a few minutes, they feel dry to the touch yet retain their cool fragrance. Rigging up a makeshift teabag from a coffee filter, she brews it up, feeling that now would be a perfect time to "untangle the mind". It certainly feels like a wrung sponge this evening!

She returns to her desk, squinting wearily at her computer screen with a sigh. _I can wrap this up in another half hour...I hope _she thinks to herself. She gives her cup a stir, breathing in the calming aroma. She sighs again, this time more contentedly, thinking fond things about her new friend and his very appropriate gift. She decides it's steeped enough and takes a sip. It's then that Murphy understands how this herb is said to have magical properties, she feels calmer and clearer already. It nearly brings tears to her eyes, this was just what she needed! She drains her cup and, feeling refreshed, wraps up work for the night in short order. With a smile on her lips and a song in her heart, she heads for home, making a mental note to drop in on Bob the next day to thank him. Then she drives by out of habit, sees a light still on in the front room. She parks across the street and gingerly approaches...

Meanwhile, back at the closed-up wizard's shop, Bob is reading more of his book. He finds himself reading the same passages twice or three times; he can't seem to focus. He wonders how Murphy's day went, if she tried the mugwort and if she liked it. Whenever he thinks of her, he longs to touch her, to hold her...instead, he contents himself to just read about it. After a largely unsatisfying couple of hours, he turns in for the night.

No sooner had he vanished into his skull, than he hears the key turning in the lock again! With a bounding heart, he flies out, almost forgetting to take human form in his haste. With a sharp gasp of pleasure, he beams across the room at the woman who is rapidly stealing his heart.

"Miss Murphy, what a pleasant surprise! I would have thought most normal people would be asleep now."

Murphy smirks at him with a wave, "Well, looks like neither of us is normal."

"You have no idea," he drawls with a sinister-sounding laugh. "Oh, it's so good to see you!"

She finds herself equally happy, but unable to pinpoint why. "I can't stay for long, but I just wanted to say thank you for the tea. That was so good; it was just what I needed. I don't know how you could have possibly known that, but it was."

"Good, good! It's quite effective, isn't it? I worried about its potency, but...you liked it, that's wonderful. Feel free to take some more for later, if you'd like." Bob has to stop himself before he gives away Harry's entire stock.

"Maybe tomorrow. Just, thanks so much. I love you—It! I'd really like you... like you to. I mean, that's very sweet of you," she looks horrified at the words tumbling out of her mouth. "I mean I'd...oh..." she snarls to herself. Murphy waits for him to laugh her out of the shop, or, at best, give her a pitying, patronizing look.

Bob does none of these things. He gazes at her, wholly touched. He smiles at her awkward confession, the way her mouth ran away from her and spoke her heart freely. "I...I don't know what to say."

Murphy backs up, shaking her head, "I didn't mean to say that, Bob, just forget it. I promise I won't get weird."

Not looking the least bit wrong-footed, Bob saunters behind the island out of habit, feeling he ought to keep some sort of physical barrier between them before he makes a fool of himself. "What if I told you that I have no problem with weird? It's hard to believe we only met yesterday, I feel as though I've always known you. That could be in part from what Harry would share with me, but...I think it's more than that. Do you agree?"

Freezing up uncomfortably-or at least trying to feel uncomfortable, but how can she when she feels as happy as Julie Andrews spinning on a mountaintop? -Murphy nods her head. When and how, exactly, did this strange old man nestle into her heart? How had she grown so fond of him so quickly? _Can people really fall in love this fast?_ "I...um...I need to..." she points feebly at the clock on the wall. "I gotta go. But...tomorrow? Can I come back tomorrow?"

"Oh, yes. Please do."

"Early?"

"The earlier, the better. Now run along home and get some sleep. You look dead on your feet." Bob gently shoos her out, giving her the impression of a mother hen. She wonders with a grin if he treats Harry like that sometimes, fussing over his well-being. "Good night...what...what is your first name?"

"Connie."

"Constance? That's a lovely name."

Wrinkling her nose, she confesses, "Constanza." She'd grown sensitive to her rather ethnic-sounding name since childhood, other kids would tease her with stupid racist remarks. She'd grown to hate it as a result and was more than happy to go solely by her last name at work.

This makes the man's smile grow. "Good night, my Stanzi. And if it makes you feel any better, my name is Hrothbert." He pauses for her involuntary snort of laughter; she somehow feels kinship with this man who'd been likewise saddled with a mouthful of a name. "I'll see you in the morning, my dear. I look forward to it."

"Same here. Want me to lock up on my way out? You probably leave through the back, don't you?"

"Yes, please do. Thank you." Neither of them moves. They stand there, frozen in place, grinning inanely at each other.

"Good night, Bob."

"Good night, Stanzi."

Slowly she creeps out the door and locks up. Just as she's turned to leave, she hears the most curious sound from inside the building-

As the door shut behind Murphy, Bob spun on his heel and found himself raising his voice in song. It is a current one, as far as he knows, although he can't remember when he last heard it – "I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of? I'm afraid that I'm not sure of, a love there is no cure for. I think I love you, isn't that what life is made of? Though it worries me to say I have never felt this way..."

Covering her mouth to smother her laughter, Murphy scurries to her car and speeds away, humming the same song herself.

Bob should know by now that things that seem this good seldom stay that way. Mere hours after they've each floated away in a happy cloud of newly realized love, it all will come crashing down to reality.

When Murphy gets to bed that night, she worries that she won't be able to "shut her brain off" and that she'll lie awake all night indulging in silly, fluffy thoughts. In truth, she sleeps like the dead. It might have been the tea, or simply the load taken from her mind of looking ridiculous in front of Bob. She wakes before her alarm, feeling rested and energetic. Breezing through her morning routine, she gives herself plenty of time to stop by to visit Bob.

True to her word, Murphy lets herself in at precisely seven o'clock in the morning. They stand there in the room together, facing each other with matching determined looks on their faces.

"Stanzi, there's something I have to tell you." Murphy shushes him unsympathetically, stalking up to him with a growing hunger in her eyes. "Please, my dear, I-"

Murphy makes a "zip it" gesture with her hand, and huskily utters. "No talking." She moves in to kiss him...and passes right through him with a cold shudder and a wild shriek of fright!

"That's what I was going to tell you," Bob blandly delivers as his would-be lover stares at him fearfully, looking horrified and confused. "Now, darling, just calm down, I can explain."

"Explain?! What...what...what the hell are you?!" Murphy demands, jabbing her finger through his shoulder with wild eyes.

"In addition to everything else you know me to be, I...happen...to be a ghost." They both look rather ill, cringing away from each other where they previously sought closeness. "Stanzi, darling, I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you, but I kept...I kept forgetting. You made me feel alive. That might sound like a cliché of being in love, but in my case it's rather telling, wouldn't you say? To make a man who's been dead for centuries feel as though he's alive? It's been so lonely, Stanzi, and you've been so sweet to me, just absolutely wonderful, and I couldn't help it. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You're...you're a ghost," she gasps.

"I'm a ghost who loves you," he offers hopefully.

Murphy sinks down into a chair, limply, covering her mouth. "I didn't know ghosts could love," she frankly informs him. "I...I didn't know ghosts could be ghosts."

Bob glides up to her, wanting to stop her fearful cowering. He kneels before her, bringing a hand longingly near her face. "Oh, I want to touch you. I would...I would..." he stammers helplessly. "I would make you _so happy_ if I only could. My Stanzi."

While his hands may be intangible, his gentle words pet her soul. When she looks up at him again, she's still upset, but her fear is abating. "God, Bob!"

"Are you afraid of ghosts? If...if you are, I promise I'm not the kind one would likely be afraid of. I don't go around moaning and banging and knocking things off of shelves, I...I don't think I fill the room with a chill feeling of unnameable dread. I'm just someone who's no longer alive but can't move on."

"You tricked me," Murphy growls, trying to make herself angry to keep her soft feelings for him at bay. In reality, she feels more pity for him than fear. "You...you made a fool out of me."

"I tried to be kind to you," he tells her, glancing in the direction of the herb garden, at the mugwort plant that was missing a few snips. "I thought that's what I was doing. I didn't mean to trick you or make you out a fool. I..." he trails off, leaning over her like he was going to kiss her. "Oh...if only...if only for a moment. I miss you so badly, my dear. Sweet girl."

In this short space of time, Murphy's resolve to be angry buckles. It spirals strangely into grief, as though her lover just died before her eyes. She ducks her head down to her knees and sobs, leaving Bob utterly helpless, with no clue how to comfort her. He simply hovers near her, making soft shushing sounds and murmuring nonsense that it would be all right.

"There, there, now. Are you crying...for me? Because I died?"

Although her sobs have run out, Murphy doesn't trust her voice, so she just nods jerkily.

"No one's done that before."

"Oh, Bob, surely-"

The ghost cuts her off dismissively. "No, no one. They actually declared it a local holiday when I finally kicked the bucket. I'll tell you more later if you want to hear it, but I don't expect you want to." Murphy shakes her head in agreement. Bob looks like he has an idea, but is afraid of what Murphy will think of it. "Could...could you do something for me?"

Murphy sniffles, "What is it?"

Bob paces, feeling suddenly shy, and afraid of making a mess of things again. "You're more than free to refuse if you don't want to, but it would make me feel better. It might help you feel better as well." He looks for her reaction so far. She's sitting up straighter, looking as though she may be willing to help him. Then he bites the bullet and makes his request. "Could you hold my skull? I...I want to be close to you, my dear. Please?"

As she makes her way to the kitchen counter, it slowly dawns on her that the ghastly-looking thing is Bob's actual skull. She looks between it and its owner hesitantly. Closing her eyes, she snatches it up and hears a soft sigh from the lonely ghost. It sounds as though she's just spread balm on a wound, he sounds that relieved. She looks at him again, and his eyes are closed blissfully. Wondering if he can actually feel her, she strokes the top of the skull.

"Oh...oh, hold me close," he sighs pleadingly. "You..have such a nice soul, and such a good heart. To be next to that...so sweet, so good. You're still upset, but...but you don't hate me," he whispers, barely able to believe his good fortune.

"You can feel what sort of person someone is just from them touching your skull?" Murphy asks.

Bob opens his eyes with a lazy smile, "Yes. I've only just clued Harry in to that trait. When I told him, he gave the blasted thing such a good polish it was a relief. I didn't even suggest it, it was his idea. Someone...unspeakable handled it recently. He handled it quite personally, it..." he trails off with a shudder, then finds relief again in concentrating on Murphy's goodness.

"You're connected to it, aren't you?" Murphy guesses, remembering the last time they talked about his skull. "The other day you told me that you'd had it for quite some time and that you were rather attached to it. You were making a joke but it was the truth."

With a shaky nod, Bob grins at the woman's cleverness. "Right you are, my dear. That's one stipulation of my eternal curse, that I remain bound to my own skull. I even go into it if Harry's annoyed with me."

"What, like sending you to your room?" She almost sounds like she's laughing. It gives Bob the notion that he may not have lost all.

"Something like that," he allows. "You feel so nice," he croons decidedly. "I knew you would. Harry takes it to bed with him sometimes. It's...quite cozy, actually. I pretend I don't always realize it or that I don't approve, but, don't tell him anything but I think it's sweet. It makes me feel like I'm not all alone."

Then, right on cue, the phone rings. After the requisite number of rings passes, the answering machine gives a beep-

Harry's voice floats out of it, sounding a bit crackly. "Hello? Dammit, I don't think the machine picked up."

In the background, another man's voice is heard- "Who're you trying to call?"

"Uh, my friend back home, Bob. He's minding the shop for me while I'm out of town. I just wanted him to know it went all right and that I'll be heading out soon."

"That must be nice, having someone at home waiting for ya. Shoot, if I called my mom more than once a month she'd think I was in trouble or something."

"Well, neither of us has any family or anything, so we stick together. We take care of each other. I love him and I don't care if you think that's weird."

"Nah, man, it's not weird to love your bro. Must be a good guy. I mean, seriously, if you don't have anyone else to look out for you, you gotta stick to who you trust, right?"

Bob and Murphy can hear the smile in Harry's voice when he agrees. "Yeah, you're right. And he is a good guy. Well, he's not _perfect,_ he made some mistakes years back but that doesn't make him a bad person."

Another voice pipes up, a young woman's voice, "That reminds me, a bunch of us were going to go visit Alex in jail. That would cheer him up."

Harry laughs, "Guess you don't hold your friends' mistakes against them, either. Yeah, Bob, though...Bob's the best. Thing is, he's a ghost."

"Dude, your best friend is a ghost? That's awesome!"

"Eh, not that awesome. He can't touch anything, so that's hard on him. That guy seriously needs a hug."

"Man, that would suck. And with your being so tight, I bet you wish you could sometimes."

"Lots of times," Harry admits.

"You should've brought him down! Next time, okay?"

Harry scoffs, "Next time? Sure, why not? Next time you guys have routine hauntings going on, I'll bring him with."

"And he can sit in on our D&D game, too," the woman suggests.

"You know, I bet he'd be good at that game."

"Hey, so call him. Hang up and try again. I bet we're giving some operator an earful."

There's a _click_ and it goes quiet. Then the next minute-

_beep!_

"Hi, Bob, it's Harry. Look, I just want you to know I'm heading out in a little bit, so I'll be home before noon depending on traffic."

There's a clamoring heard in the background.

"Okay, Bob, I got some people who want to say hi to you, too."

He holds the phone out to the room and various people shout greetings at him, assuring him that they took good care of Harry for him, and various sundry remarks. With a final word of farewell, Harry hangs up. Bob is stricken speechless, clapping a hand to his mouth as tears fall. True, these are total strangers, but that they've accepted him through the things Harry told them about him, and they don't hold things against him. He looks over at Murphy, hope kindling in his eyes.

"They...they're not afraid of ghosts."

Murphy doesn't answer right away, but strokes the skull a bit more before setting it back down. "No, they're not. Bob, I..." she looks sadly at him, reaching for him as he mimics the gesture. "I can't do this, Bob. I can't...I don't know if anyone could be in a relationship with someone they couldn't touch. With someone who's dead."

"Stanzi?"

She cringes at the pet name. As much as it previously pleased her, she isn't sure if she can accept an affectionate nickname from him. "Yes?"

"I love you."

She doesn't say anything, just turns away and stalks from the island.

"Do...do you love me?"

She gives a grouchy huff, "Well, if I didn't, this would sure as hell be a lot easier." She stops right there, gazing up at him sympathetically. "Yes. I, uh, I don't know when or why or how it happened, but I love you." With a glance at the clock, she adds, "And I've got to get to work."

"Will I see you again?"

Murphy runs her hand over the skull once more, thinking about something. "What if...we picked up where we left off...after I die? I know it's a long time—hopefully—but how about that?"

"I...I'd like that very much. Fifty odd years may seem long to you, but...oh, darling!" Bob gasps. "You'll come back to me, that's wonderful!"

She nods, smiling a little at the prospect herself. "I'll come back to you. I promise."

Suddenly, a bright silver-blue spark appears on his skull. It's very small, about half an inch in diameter. It blazes brightly and beautifully for a moment before fading to black, and a new symbol has appeared amid the etchings. They both stare at it.

"What just happened? What do those markings mean, anyway?"

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Bob peers down at the new mark. "All of these detail the conditions of my curse. Eternal imprisonment, banned from entering Heaven, bound obedience, et cetera. And now...it says I'm to have a companion." He grins at her, throwing his arms around himself in pleasure.

Staring at the new engraving and worried about what it implies, that she's formally pledged herself to him, Murphy excuses herself and tries to beat a hasty retreat. "Fine, then. I'll...see you then."

"Oh, don't think you have to wait until you're dead, that would be silly! I'm sure we'll see each other in the meantime. Don't forget to take some more mugwort, it sounds like it does the trick for those long nights you put in."

Unable to deny this, she gives a brief nod and helps herself to another serving's worth of the herb. Then, Bob leans in close and whispers confidentially, as though he supposes he's offering her a real treat. "Would you like to see me vanish?"

"Vanish?" she repeats blankly, wondering how much ghost business she's going to be asked to deal with today. She gives a noncommittal nod. Bob gets as close to her as he can, he can almost feel her warmth, breathe her scent...almost. Then he steps aside and swirls away in a fountain of smoke and flame. He lands expertly in his skull and the eye sockets glow orange with his essence.

"Have a good day at work, Stanzi."

Cautiously, she creeps back and picks the skull back up for a moment. Torn between her fear of his unnatural state, and the love they have tenderly cultivated over the past few days, she makes a face...then kisses it. With that, she sets it down and dashes off.


	2. Chapter 2

She goes through her work day in a horrified haze. In the time she's known Harry Dresden, her life has become uncommonly complicated, but this definitely takes the cake. How in the world could she have ended up in some romantic entanglement with his dead roommate?! Murphy bops her head against her computer screen with a growl. Then she remembers that Harry will be back later today. Maybe he'll have some advice, or be able to talk some sense into Bob. The very thought of the handsome ghost makes something twist inside her. _I hate this, and I hate him!_ she thinks to herself, not altogether convincingly. She's forced to remember how happy she's been over the past few days, how much they've enjoyed each other's company. As Murphy thinks it over, she realizes they've barely spoken to each other about anything significant, they've been simply drawn together by raw chemistry. The feeling they already knew each other...

Somehow, she manages to do her job in a reasonable enough way. It's two in the afternoon, and she's just about to reach for the phone to call Harry. With uncanny timing, it rings the second she lays her hand on it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Murph, it's me. Busy?"

Murphy fidgets, wondering what Bob has told him by now. With her luck, everything. "Not at the moment, just taking a breather."

Back at the office, Harry grins over in the direction of his ghost, "Good. Hey, I just got in a couple hours ago. I hear you met my...associate."

Murphy smacks herself in the face, praying that her friend isn't about to humiliate her. "Uh, yeah, I did. Nice guy."

Harry points to the phone and mouths the words "nice guy" to Bob, pointing at him. The old sorcerer beams delightedly, looking triumphant. "Yeah, he sounded like you two hit it off. And I saw his skull." When there's no answer, he keeps talking. "That's gotta be the sweetest thing you could've done. Look, I never figured you two would get along so well, but I'm glad you did. Hang onto your spare key, swing by whenever you like, okay?"

"Harry..." she ventures nervously. "How...how can you...how are we supposed to...Dammit, Harry, help me out here!"

The wizard laughs shortly, "I think you two can figure it out. Take good care of him, okay? He's my best friend. Be good to him."

In a weird way, Harry's acceptance of them as a couple just makes Murphy angry. "God dammit, wizard, are you going to help me or not?! What am I supposed to do with this? All you're going to do is just give us your blessing and wash your hands of it? Oh, no. No. That's not how this dance goes, got it?"

"Murphy...I think you're a little excited. Bob told me everything; I've never seen him happier. He was afraid he'd scared you off with the whole ghost thing, but when he told me you agreed to join him after you died, I knew there was nothing to worry about. He's crazy about you. Oh, and I noticed my mugwort had a little pruning done."

"He gave it to me, I...I really liked it. It got me through a rough night last night and..." this is hard for her to talk about. Not twelve hours ago she was happily in love with the man, not realizing what he is, not aware of anything complicated, just happy. "It was so nice of him," she has to admit.

Pointing at the clipped plant, Harry gestures back to the phone, points at Bob, and gives him the OK signal. He ends by making a kissy face and batting his eyes girlishly. The ghost responds by blowing kisses at the phone before swirling away into his skull. "If you need to talk about this in person, come over after you're done with work, okay? Hugs and kisses from Bob."

"Yeah...I'll see you later. Bye."

That evening, Murphy stands in front of Harry Dresden's front door, deciding whether to knock or just forget it. She raises her hand to knock and the door opens in front of her. She nearly falls in! There stands Harry, looking ready to catch her, and Bob lurks in the background, in an obvious approach/avoid conflict. He figures he ought to wait his turn. He's had her all to himself these past three days. He'll let them get caught up before jumping in. Still he waves at her across the room with a smile, gestures that he's drawing a finger down her cheek.

Murphy is surprised when Bob's gesture actually causes her to give a delighted shiver. She finds she can't look at him without blushing.

Harry steers her onto the couch and they sit together. "Murphy? You okay?" She nods stubbornly, bringing her hands around her shoulders, hugging herself. "Need a hug?" he asks kindly. Murphy nods with a strangled 'yeah', gazing over at the ghost again. Harry and Bob exchange looks, both of them filled with pity for their mutual friend.

"For Gods' sake, Harry, hold her for me!" he whispers sharply. "Please." He glides quickly to his lady's side, getting as close as he can without going through her. "It's all right, my dear. It takes some getting used to at first, but soon enough..." he trails off, losing whatever thread he's begun. "I'm so sorry for giving you such a turn, for...for being _this_." Bob sniffles and shuffles away to let Harry cuddle and comfort her.

"It's not fair," Murphy observes with a groan, clinging to her wizard friend, her eyes shut tight as in her thoughts she's cozied up to...someone else. "Dammit, Bob!" Tears leak out of her eyes and she feels him just graze her. Deathly cold and as insubstantial as mist. She opens her eyes and sees Bob standing over her, trying to kiss her tears away. Their shared frustration nearly breaks her. She sobs wildly, burying her face against Harry's chest. _So it's true, the last nice guy on Earth is dead. _She can't even properly understand why she's reacting this way. The anger, the confusion, self-pity and fear. All she knows is she wants to be in Bob's arms. Murphy had spent much of her life alone, even at work she keeps her distance from her colleagues. Bob has melted those walls away with a kind smile and an understanding heart. She's never known a man like him. Her father and ex-husband were both cold and aloof, unreachable men of few words and no emotional availability. It had cemented as fact the myth that men don't have feelings. Bob is a different case altogether. She holds onto Harry and grieves for her lover. The wizard hangs on tight on Bob's behalf, not really sure what he thinks of being his stunt-double. After a few more minutes, Murphy lets go with a weak sigh.

"Thank you, Harry. I...I don't know what came over me, it just hit me all at once. I hate this!"

"You hate what?" Bob inquires, his arms folded thoughtfully as he gazes at her with concern in his eyes.

Unable to articulate it properly, Murphy just repeats, "This! That...we're...so different." She begins reaching towards him and then clenches her hand into a fist, pounding her forehead.

With a pensive sigh, Bob shakes his head. "I can see I'm only making you worse. If you'll excuse me." He vanishes in a stream of smoke, retreating to his skull. "Harry," he hisses from across the room. When his master obeys, Bob whispers, "Let her hold it. Me. I...I think she may like it. I know I do."

Harry isn't sure, but he does as Bob suggested, slipping the skull into Murphy's hands without a word. The wizard is surprised to see his friend press it to her heart with a soft crooning sigh.

"Oh, this is so weird," Murphy grumbles, touching her forehead against it. "This...is unbelievable; it's stupid and bizarre." She holds it up so he's facing her. "Bob, we can't. You...you have to understand. Not like this, not like _this! _Just look at me! Look at what I'm doing!" She glares at the skull in her hands, already layered with maledictions. "Damn you..." she whispers. Finding sudden strength in her renewed anger at their situation, she stands up abruptly, carrying Bob with her as she paces. "This isn't how people...normal people..._do_ this! The living don't fall in love with the dead! They don't make pacts to join long-since-deceased ghosts! Normal people don't have these problems, Bob!"

"Yes, but as you yourself pointed out yesterday, Stanzi, we are not normal people."

This actually makes her laugh a little, calming her and bringing her back to herself. "I can't. I'm sorry, Bob." Murphy's next words are drawn from her, speaking as one in a dream, "I do love you, though. I just hate this." She sets the skull back down on the counter and sits back down with Harry, her head in her hands.

Harry rubs her shoulders, knowing there's nothing he can say right now. He just lets her seethe for a bit. Then- "Well, looks like I was wrong about there being nothing to worry about," he admits. "I mean, sure it's complicated, and it's...unusual. That's life, you know?" Murphy looks up at him like he's crazy; she's really getting tired of the "everything's okay" line when it so obviously isn't. Harry gets the hint and sighs. "He's a good guy, right?" Murphy nods. "And from what he told me, you two are, or at least were, happy together." Again, she nods, taking steadier breaths. "He can't help being what he is. Trust me, if he could do something about it, he would. I think it's been wearing on him for a while now. Then you came in and swept him off his feet." Harry grins, giving his friend a nudge. "The most formidable sorcerer history has known, and you had him eating out of your hand. You know, if for now all you can be is friends, and the physical part has to wait until...later," he doesn't like the idea of Murphy's death being billed as a good thing,"Think you could do that?"

"Yeah," she whispers, still feeling awkward and lost. "You know, Harry, I'd probably be this much of a wreck even if he were alive. It's been a long time for me."

"I hear ya. I think Bob's worth waiting for, though."

Murphy smiles and nods, relaxing again. Maybe it's true, that seeing the ghost only exacerbated the situation. Knowing he's in the room, but not visible, has helped to calm her. One less reminder of what's out of reach. "He can't really feel that way, Harry," she whispers almost hopefully.

Taking her lead, he answers in a hushed voice, "Why not?"

In reply, all Murphy does is hold her hands out, bringing them up and down her body with a derisive laugh. Harry looks confused, shaking his head to show he doesn't understand. "Nobody loves me."

"He does," Harry tells her decisively. "Just because you've had bad luck with men, doesn't mean we're all jerks. I know I'm not a gleaming example, but don't hold that against Bob. He fell in love with a pretty young woman who wanted to learn about his magic plants." He doesn't say how Bob initially described Murphy when he'd gotten home...

Harry had just gotten in the door that morning when he was pounced by his resident ghost. Greeting him like a dog loving his owner, Bob gushed, "Harry, you're back! Oh, have I got things to tell you! It was wonderful! I got to meet your friend, Miss Murphy. She's absolutely delightful! She...Harry, she reminds me of _her!_ The way she brings springtime and sunshine into a dark and lonely room. Oh, if only I could get my hands on her..." he trailed off lustily, spinning in place. "My sweet Stanzi!"

Harry smirks at the memory of his usually stoic, sneering friend, lit up like Christmas. Still, he'll keep that just between them for now. He thinks it odd that Murphy would remind Bob of Winifred, his fateful lover from long ago who made him what he is now. It sounded like he meant it as a compliment, but even so, it's bad form to compare your current girlfriend to an ex. Maybe later.

"I'm sure he'll understand if you need time apart, just to work through all of this. Just don't drop off the face of the Earth, okay?" Harry gets up and goes to the fridge, giving Bob's skull a pat on the way by. He gets out two bottles of beer and pops them open, returns to the couch and hands one to his smitten friend. She accepts it gratefully and taps her bottle against his before taking a sip.

"I just can't do anything the easy way, can I?" Murphy observes with a cockeyed grin, trying to laugh at herself for this, while she doesn't find it humorous at all. "I've never been so attracted to someone before. Why does he have to be out of bounds? He's..." again, her displaced feelings are churning up something akin to grief, "he's so sweet to me. No one's ever treated me like that. He thinks I'm a lady," she laughs. "I mean, really, me, a lady. If I didn't know that it was just his way, I would have thought he was making fun of me, but I really think he was being polite. No one...no one's ever bothered to try to be polite around me before." She takes a deep swig and slumps back in her seat. "I just really want to cuddle up to him. And he's so pretty. I...I know men don't like hearing that, but...he's beautiful." Murphy brings her hands up around her shoulders with a sigh, angry at the unfairness of the world.

Bob listens from his place in his skull, feeling his essence grow warm and agitated. _She thinks I'm beautiful,_ he ponders, not at all offended by her choice of words. _Oh, Stanzi, if I could, I would gladly cuddle up with you right here and now._

"Well, you'll get to be with him someday," Harry reminds her, trying to bring her out of her melancholy. "Better not be too soon, though, right?"

"What about that? God, what was I thinking, saying I'd come back to him?! It's going to be ages! Waiting the rest of my life for a man I've known for less than a week? What if I forget all about him, or just don't care anymore?"

Ever the hopeful romantic, Harry suggests, "Love doesn't keep a schedule. I think he touched something in you that's been awfully neglected. I think it's great, and it can work. It's not textbook perfect, but most relationships aren't. You make each other happy, and that's the important part."

Murphy has to smile at that, "I did like that tea he gave me."

"Take as much as you want, my dear," Bob pipes up. "It grows like a weed. If it's not clipped back it will grow as tall as me. I'm glad you like it, that somehow I could help."

His simple gesture has certainly touched her. She can't remember the last time someone actively tended to her like that. Quickly wiping her eyes, Murphy nods. "Thank you. That means a lot to me, Bob."

Feeling a bit bolder, Bob decides to come back out of his skull. He hopes Murphy has calmed down enough to handle seeing him. Instead, he finds that he's having the same difficulty... "Oh, it's not fair," he sighs. He bites his lip and fidgets with his hands, trying to keep from reaching for her. "It's—not—fair!" he declares decidedly, storming off to stand in a corner. "God, I want you, Stanzi. I don't think I can bear this."

She gazes across the room at him with a smirk, then gets up and goes to the potted plant and snips off a few more cuttings. This lures Bob over to her side and they hover next to each other, trapped in the acts of abbreviated nuzzles and kisses. Then, at the same time, they both scowl irritably, realizing it isn't enough, and simply breaking eye contact. Bob watches her hands as she wraps up her supply of herbs, gazing at her face when she brings the bundle up to smell it. For a moment, he seems to enjoy it vicariously through her. As though he, too, can feel the calming effects of the herb, he draws a soft sigh of relief.

"You should see it in the summer; its blossoms are beautiful." Bob makes a mental note to send her some, wrapped in a red satin ribbon.

"I'd love to see that. From the pictures I saw when I did my searches I'd have to agree." They both look up together, their eyes meet, and they smile. For now, neither of them is worrying about touching. "It's fun to learn about these. I'd like to hear it from you, though."

"You want me to give you a lecture on magical botany?"

Murphy giggles, imagining the ghost up on his soapbox. "Yeah, I think I do."

Bob grins, putting his hands to his cheeks as though he's blushing. "We'll have to pencil that in somewhere, won't we?"

Sensing his mediation is no longer needed, Harry tiptoes away, waving Bob on, inviting him to begin now. He gives a double OK signal and goes upstairs. Bob brightens, gives his master a nod and a gesture of thanks. "Well, Stanzi..." he begins writing in the air in beautiful curving letters. He writes the common as well as the formal name for the plant. "Artemisia Vulgaris. Its properties pertaining to the mind cannot be understated. It is a highly useful plant, 'vulgar' as it may be." He pauses for her to acknowledge that he'd made a joke. She realizes almost too late, but gives him a humoring grin, unable to tear her eyes from the gleaming words he produces out of thin air. "The tea you've brewed from it is often drunk by practitioners before divination spells. Not that there's anything magical about fortune-telling as you know it, the real thing, though is quite different..." He carries on tirelessly, pleased to show off what he knows before a willing student.

Murphy listens, drinking it in appreciatively. Then her attention is diverted to the lecturer's face, particularly his mouth. She licks her lips reflexively and gives a sigh. Then, she chances to interrupt the professor.

"Say, Bob...what if I wanted to astral project?"

Looking rather concerned, Bob purses his lips in thought, making Murphy unconsciously mimic him. "You mean you wish to send your spirit somewhere away from your body," he puts it in simple terms. Murphy nods, grinning, fluffing out the leaves pointedly. Then he gets the idea, "Ohh! I should warn you, Stanzi, it's not easy to do, especially for...someone like you. It takes practice and doing it all wrong, and...oh, just ask Harry. He's been close to getting seriously lost a number of times."

At hearing his name, Harry peeks out, looks down and glares at Bob, wholly embarrassed by his former teacher trotting out his past failures for public amusement. Murphy tries not to laugh, drawing her face into a serious expression when Harry looks at her.

"Sounds hard," she grumbles in disappointment.

"Yes, I would really rather you not risk it, especially for something...frivolous," Bob tells her. "It would have been nice, I know, but not worth the risk. I'd hate to lose you," he murmurs earnestly, bringing a hand near her cheek. He mimes kissing her forehead, imagining he's savoring her tenderly. "Darling...humor me...do you wear a particular fragrance?"

Realizing this means he not only can't touch her, he can't smell her, either, and startled at how separated from him this makes her feel, she answers, "My usual one is lavender and vanilla."

Bob purrs at the memory of scent, smelling it in his mind. "That sounds lovely. Both are quite rife with magical properties of their own, too. More on that later," he whispers in promise. "But, the hour grows late. You'd best scurry off, my dear."

"Look, I...I may need a break from this. Just to figure this whole thing out. You know?"

"I heard earlier. I suppose it's the least I can do for you after giving you such a fright earlier today. I admit, it's hard to look but be unable to touch. What if I wrote to you?"

"Sure, fine. That's...fine. Good night, Bob."

"Good night, Stanzi. Sleep well."

She heads for the door, turns back for a minute to look at him with a sigh, then leaves.


	3. Chapter 3

Bob turns to his master with a hopeful grin, "I think that went rather well, don't you?"

Making his way back down the stairs, Harry shrugs, "Could've been worse. She still seemed kind of..." he waves a hand in the air, looking for the right word, "iffy about the whole ghost business, but...maybe she'll get over it. I mean, she knew you as you first. You being dead came after you liked each other. Just go easy on her: she's a civilian."

"She's not going to like getting called that," Bob points out, rolling his eyes skyward. "It doesn't mean the same thing to her."

"Right, but if we just called her 'normal', what would that make us?"

With a teasing smirk, Bob quips, "Well, if the shoe fits..." and he wafts away into his skull. Harry snorts back a laugh, unable to disagree with him. He scoops up the skull and heads upstairs to bed.

The next morning, Harry wakes up to find Bob's face inches from his. He jumps back with an alarmed yell, almost falling out of bed in the process. The ghost takes a step back to watch his former student flail around helplessly in a tangle of bed sheets before he finally stands before him. Bob crosses his arms calmly and greets him. "Good morning! I have a favor to ask."

"Could you have done it without waking me up like that?! God, Bob!"

Taking a step towards him, Bob continues undeterred. "I do have other ways of waking you: need I remind you of them?"

With a shudder, Harry skitters backwards. "No, no, fine! What...what is it?"

"You need to go to the stationery shop. We'll need pens, ink, fine writing paper, preferably with some sort of letterhead. If we get it with a nice H monogram we could even share it. Let's see, brass seals and wax, something nice and elegant but not Baroque-looking. It makes me hear harpsichords in my head, and I can't stand harpsichords..." his thoughts wander off as he paces.

Harry listens, taking in this shopping list with a confused, early-morning expression on his face. "What...what's all that for?"

Bob looks back at the wizard, surprised. "I promised Stanzi I'd write to her. I intend to court her properly, I'll have you know."

"Court her...right. Bob, what if I told you things are done a little differently nowadays?"

Pursing his lips in annoyance, Bob considers this. "I'd like to do it the right way, just the same. Someone like Stanzi deserves to be wooed with genuine intent."

Harry chuckles, listening to his friend talk like this. The two of them generally speak plain, modern English to each other, but he suspects something is making Bob downshift into how he once spoke, maybe it's reminding him of the last time he courted. His love for Lieutenant Murphy is making him feel alive, and now it's making him act the part. Figuring his requests aren't unreasonable, Harry nods, walking past the ghost to get to the shower. Once he's dressed and ready, he flips through the phone book to find the nearest thing to a stationery shop, preferably within walking distance. Seriously doubting he'll find everything his lovesick friend requires, he jots down a list with notes regarding Bob's preferences, and heads out, locking up behind him.

The store he visits has the personalized paper and envelopes Bob requested. Harry smirks as he thinks of his offer that they could "share" it if he got one with an H. He never thought of it before, that they have the same first initial. He's called him by the shortened version of his name so much, only using his real one for formal reasons, mainly for summoning him. It makes him wonder which his friend actually prefers. He's heard him refer to himself as Bob more often, but has on occasion used the full version. Maybe it has to do with wanting to do things as "properly" and formally as he knows how. "Hrothbert and Stanzi Bainbridge," he whispers as he ponders his friends as a couple. At the checkout, he chances asking about sealing wax and the other things. To his surprise, the worker points him to a crafts shop not too far down the street, where he'd find quills, calligraphy ink, and various sealing implements. She bags his purchases, asking "Got someone special you're writing to?"

"Uh, a friend of mine is. Got a girlfriend and wants to 'court her properly'."

"That's sweet, she'll love that," the girl remarks with a grin. "Good luck to him!"

It's just a ten minute's walk to the crafts store and he finds the pens and ink easily enough. After some wandering, he ends up in the wedding aisle and comes across seals and wax. He sifts through them, hoping for something appropriate. He settles on a rose and some sticks of red wax. It looks easy enough to use, just light the little wick and let it drip onto the envelope, wet the seal, press it, and let it harden. Harry makes an approving face, thinking of maybe classing up his electricity bill for fun. He picks up a simple, streamlined H, passing over the more ornate, Gothic-style one, and is even pleased to find a pentacle in the mix. Grinning like a kid with a shiny new toy, he checks out.

Spreading out his findings on the table in the lab, Harry shows off his success to Bob. "I can't believe they still sell all this stuff."

"One must never underestimate the lure of nostalgia. The art of letter-writing is still practiced, even if not as widely as it once was."

"Yeah, most people can just send each other messages on their phones these days. Kinda like a telegram," Harry explains, halfway teasing.

Bob pouts, but is nonetheless pleased with his master's findings. "Shall we begin?"

Harry starts back in surprise, "Begin? You just saw her last night!" He checks his watch. "More like 12 hours ago!"

Assuming a dreamy expression, Bob gazes unseeing at the ceiling, "Yes, and I've been thinking of her all night."

Harry rolls his eyes with an annoyed grunt, dropping into a chair and getting things set up. Bob investigates their new writing implements with a slightly troubled expression. "You'll need an inkwell, or at the very least a separate pen rest. We mustn't dribble all over or simply leave the pen sitting in the ink bottle all day."

"You're starting to push your luck here, Romeo. Just make it short and sweet, huh?" Still, he rummages around until he finds an empty vial that is short and round, with a fluted-out lip. That will do perfectly—for now.

Bob peers down at him, watching as Harry adjusts the things around the desk. "Ready?"

"Fire away." Harry dips the pen in, wipes it across the edge of the bottle, and gets a clean sheet of paper in front of him.

"Try not to blot the page too much," Bob mutters before clearing his throat to begin.

"Dearest Stanzi,

I hope this letter finds you as well as it leaves me at present. Or, rather, better, since...well, you know." Bob cracks a smile at his morbid joke. Harry rolls his eyes and grudgingly scratches away.

"Thank you for your understanding that you showed yesterday. I'm so happy that a little thing like my metaphysical state won't get between us. To lose you now would be unbearable. You have brought sunlight and...life to a very old, world-weary man. I cannot ever repay the kindness you've shown. I only wish I could do more for you. My present state, unfortunately, doesn't lend itself well to...being demonstrative. Perhaps Harry could help me somehow.

Know that I love you with all of my heart, and while I await our happy union, I will not wish it to come sooner than necessary, since that would be wishing you harm. Live a long, healthy, happy life, and I will wait as patiently as I can. I will not forget you or grow tired through the intervening years. I know we will see each other regularly, but I look forward to the day that I may enjoy your closeness and you may enjoy mine.

Yours always,

Hrothbert"

Harry is finishing up when Bob thrusts his hand through Harry's to put down his signature with a flourish. When he steps back, Harry wrings his hand, irritated by the unexpected invasion of his personal space. He waves the letter in the air to dry, folds it, and slides it in an envelope. Harry holds the stick of wax up to a lighted candle to get it going, drips it on and seals it with the rose.

Bob grins at him, rubbing his hands together. "The game is afoot! Oh, Harry, thank you. I haven't been this happy in years."

Now glad he could help, Harry pets the skull a little before standing up to face his ghost. "No problem. We'll work out how often to write to her; if you do it too much it'll look weird."

"Really? Well, I'd planned to write every day. Would that be too...forward?"

"Yeah, Bob. Way too forward. Murphy's probably never gotten actual mail that wasn't a bill or a scam in her life."

Bob crosses his arms and strolls through the lab. "Well...that's a pity. She'll certainly like this, then, won't she?"

"We can only hope."

The next day, Murphy gets home from work and brings in the mail. She sees a heavy, cream-colored envelope, sealed with a red rose in wax. The return address says it's from "H. Bainbridge", with Harry's home address under it. She makes a brief detour into the kitchen to start the tea kettle. On her way home, she stopped at the grocery store to buy a tea ball, which she now fills with the dried mugwort. The kettle whistles, she fills her cup and adds a swirl of honey as her tea steeps. Now feeling nice and settled in, she goes back to her small stack of mail. Wrinkling her nose at the bills and throwing away the junk mail, she returns to her only actual letter. Curious, she opens it, noting the monogrammed letterhead as she reads. Slowly, she sinks down into a chair as she reads her first ever "letter of intent". When she reaches the end and sees that it's signed in a much different hand than the letter was written in, she draws a gasp, envisioning how he must have done it, what it took for a non-corporeal being to sign his name. "H. H. Bainbridge. Hrothbert." She almost laughs. He'd chosen to sign it with his clunker of a first name. Murphy reads it over again, blushing. No man has said those sorts of things to her before. She sips her tea, picturing Bob dictating to Harry. Harry, who may help him more later on, apparently. It's amazing how well the wizard is taking this turn of events. Of course, his threshold for oddness must be higher than most people's. All he probably sees is his two best friends happy together. Murphy finishes her tea, trying to see them this way. His letter, while sweet, reminds her what different worlds they're from.

"What now?" she groans to herself. "What...what am I supposed to...? Write back? Sheesh...I can't write back to _that!_ What would I say? Dear Bob, thanks for the letter. I'm fine. Blah, blah, blah." She folds it up, sticks it back in the envelope, and puts it on the narrow catch-all table near her entryway.

A few weeks later, another joins it, unopened. And another, and another. Her birthday arrives and is heralded by an elaborate flower arrangement and fruit basket, and judging by the thickness of the enclosed envelope, a novel-sized missive of love and devotion.

Harry stops by Murphy's desk that day. Instead of looking as though she's enjoying her gifts from Bob, she looks annoyed, miserable...guilty. He knocks on the side of the cubicle before letting himself in with a Snoopy birthday card for her...and a rather dark look on his face.

"Say, Murph, what gives? You haven't been by in ages, Bob's..." he has trouble keeping the anger in his voice at a manageable level. "He's getting upset. He thinks he may have said the wrong thing."

She looks up at him, as though she's feeling rather ill. She just shakes her head, gesturing to her intended's bounty. "Help me. Help me! How do I make it stop?!"

"Stop?" Harry tries to laugh, "Why would you want it to stop? I started getting worried when you never wrote back, but Bob swears he doesn't expect you to. He says that you already have his undivided attention, but it's _his_ duty to woo _you_. He also makes excuses for you, that you're busy. Too busy to drop in to say hello when you used to be in five days a week." Murphy squirms guiltily. "You gotta tell me straight, or I'm done with you. I'll get my own clients, I'll make it somehow without being attached to the police. Bob's made his intentions clear. What are yours?"

"Harry, I never even read-"

"_WHAT_ are your _intentions_ toward my _friend?!_" The lights above him flicker and brighten, pulsing with his controlled anger.

Murphy quails before him, as blue and orange light mists around his hands and arms. He looks ready to strike.

"Harry, please! I didn't know he'd do all this! What was I supposed to do, what was I supposed to say?! That first letter her wrote me...it was the most beautiful letter I've ever seen, I couldn't have dreamed up anything better. How could I have responded to poetry? I can't write like that! I don't even know what we're doing!"

The formidable-looking wizard growls, "That's what you could have said to him. You could have even come over and said it in person. Just 'Hey, Bob, let's cool it a while, I'm not feeling sure about this.' It would have been cold, but at least it would have been honest. And as far as what to write to him, how about something like 'Dear Bob, thanks for the letter, it's really nice hearing from you. Work's been a drag and my car has started making a funny clicking sound that I hope will just go away. With love, your friend, sincerely, blah-blah-blah'. He'd love to get something like that! God, Murphy! You don't know what just the thought of you does to him! You...you make the sun rise in the morning and the stars come out at night! He's _yours!_ And you just ignore him. Thinking he's just going to go away or forget about you?"

Recalling the first letter he'd sent her, Murphy murmurs, "I know he's not going to forget me."

"And you have the gall to _beg_ me to _help _you!" Harry laughs wildly, "To make it stop?! Why?"

"I don't deserve this," Murphy whispers, gesturing around her desk at the gifts Bob has sent, that Harry has paid his hard-earned money for.

"No argument here." Harry pulls up a chair with a curl of his lip. "And you're going to get to see the consequences. Question before we proceed: do you work tomorrow?"

Murphy is jarred by this mundane question, thinks for a second to remember what day it is. "Uh, no, it's my day off."

"Good. Give me your hand."

Knowing he's going to do something to her, to punish her, and that she probably deserves whatever's coming, she obeys. He presses a cold metal talisman into her palm and she feels energy shoot through her arm and into her chest, then up into her head. She slumps over in her seat, dizzy from the rush.

"Get home good and early tonight. I'd wish you pleasant dreams, but I don't think that's going to be the case." With that, Harry gets up and lets himself out.

Mercifully, she makes it through the rest of the day. It's slow, so no new cases end up on her desk and she can leave at a decent time. She's starting to feel woozy and strange as she's getting in the door. She locks it behind her and heads straight for bed, vaguely suspecting what awaits her in her sleep.

Her field of vision is filled with red, she feels a sharp pain...then a white light...a tall golden figure stands before her, helping her stand.

"Constanza Murphy," it greets her.

"Am I dead?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"And you're taking me to Heaven, right? Okay, let's go." She waits for the storied column of light to take her "home."

The golden figure laughs, almost darkly. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Uh, nope. I'm ready to go."

"Oh, you're not going very far. Trying to trick me isn't doing you any favors, either. In fact...an extra measure ought to be taken, to make sure you don't try to back out of your promise."

Suddenly, Murphy remembers, and is horrified by it. "Promise?"

There's a great rush of wind and she's flung into Harry Dresden's shop front. Harry appears to be out, but Bob is there. He approaches her, gazing at her escort.

"She tried to get away, to play dumb and convince me she had no other obligations. I brought her home to you. Good day."

Hardly daring to believe it, Bob kneels down and extends a hand to her, quivering with delight. Murphy places a hand in his and stands. Bob draws a deep, shuddering breath, squeezing her hand in disbelief. Stroking it between his, bringing it up to touch his face, to kiss it. He moans softly...Murphy feels tears on his cheeks.

"My love. My sweet Stanzi. Home with me at last! You're...quite a bit earlier than I thought you'd be, but I'm sure you died honorably."

Murphy stands, holding her head, "I...I don't remember."

"Oh, I'm certain you did. Darling..." He looks her up and down. "Oh, you're as lovely as I remember you. I do wish you would have stopped by, I would have loved very much to see you, talk to you. I missed you, Stanzi. Oh, let me...!" He places his hands around her cheeks and kisses her forehead, nuzzling and smelling her hair. "You smell so nice! And you're so soft! My dear, my dear..." he trails kisses down from her hairline to her mouth, but she freezes up and shoves him away.

"Stanzi? What's the matter, pet? I...I know it sounds horrible to say, but I've looked forward to this day for so long! I'm sorry you died, and I hope it wasn't painful. Was it painful?"

"Not for long," Murphy admits, her head still in a whirl.

A relieved smile springs to Bob's face. "Good. I'm glad you didn't suffer long. Poor dear, you're too young to die." He takes her hand again and draws her close. A strange, hungry look creeps into his eyes as he holds her hand. It frightens her and she pulls away from him again.

"Please, don't."

"Don't?" Bob looks like he doesn't understand. "Why not? I expected you would have wanted this as much as I have, or you would have sent me a proper rejection."

Murphy's face goes stricken. Here was something she never would have considered. "Sent you a rejection?"

"Of course. If a lady isn't interested in...continued pursuit," he gives her a rakish grin, "she's certainly free to reject her suitor before misunderstandings arise. But that doesn't matter. You're here now, we're together. At long last. Oh, how I've waited for this!" He cups her face in his hands again with a streak of manic giggles, nuzzling his forehead against hers with a lovesick sigh. "I'm so happy you're home with me now," he purrs. He bends down to kiss her hands again and pauses, drawing his fingers down her wrists. "Oh, darling...you poor thing, look! Back when you agreed to join me, you didn't intend for this, but..." Bob trails off, looking down at her, pityingly.

Murphy looks as well and sees her wrists are bound in ornate metal cuffs like Bob's. They're not painful or heavy, but they're meant to serve as a symbol of her bound state. Whatever else she may be, she's not free.

"Don't worry about it. It doesn't matter. We have each other. What curse?" Bob snaps his fingers in the air with a laugh.

With a weak, forced grin that's more like a grimace, Murphy drops eye contact with the man. She sighs, hugging herself for comfort, feeling sick at what she's gotten herself into.

Bob has no clue what to do for her, he'd hoped their reunion would be happy for them both. He pouts, cupping his chin in his hand, "I remember just after I was killed. It was too much at once, I couldn't stand it. Being sent to my skull was actually a relief. Would you like to?"

"Like to what?"

"Go into my skull? Rest up? You've had a busy day, it seems," he offers kindly, still trying to be understanding despite her cold prickliness.

Murphy shakes her head, pacing nervously. Bob tries again, hoping to have better luck this time. He reaches towards her and she skirts away from him with her hands held up. "Please, Bob. Stop it. Please?"

"But, Stanzi..." he pleads, wringing his hands. "We're finally real to each other. We're the same! It's what we've always wanted... … isn't it?" Murphy fidgets, doesn't answer. "You know it, don't you? You know what you mean to me, don't you? I've...I've written pages and pages!"

Slowly, Murphy brings her eyes up to him, feeling ashamed. "I...I didn't read them. I read the first one and got scared," she admits. "Please...just back off. I don't know what I was thinking when I promised this. I don't know what to do."

Bob stares at her, looking confused. "You never read your letters? Apart from the first one?"

"I thought you wanted me to write back, and...I can't write letters!"

This admission actually brings a comfortable smile to the ghost's face. "Oh, is that all? You should have told me! I wouldn't have embarrassed you with those letters if I'd known you were illiterate! It's nothing to be ashamed of! Lots of people can't read or write, it doesn't mean they're stupid. Darling, now we have all the time in the world, I can teach you."

Murphy laughs and shakes her head. "You don't understand. I can read."

Bob knits his brow, "You can? Well, good. But...what then? Is your penmanship bad? Is spelling difficult for you? I must have used an awful lot of hard words, now that I think of it. I had no idea I was mocking you."

"No, no, I have perfectly legible penmanship, and my spelling is about as good as most peoples'. Don't you get it?! I can read, I can write, I know how. I just...People don't write letters anymore, Bob. Not for pleasure, not for fun, and certainly not for...whatever you were trying to do. I was hoping you'd get the hint and stop it!"

"Court you. I was trying to court you. I thought. God, I was a fool." Now that the truth is out, Bob looks depressed. He pulls a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and twists it in his hands, wiping his eyes. "Stanzi...darling, please. It's been so long. Please...You're so soft." he reaches for her but she backs away, bringing a hand to her forehead as though this business is giving her a headache. "And here...here I was imagining you keeping my letters, preserving them in a scrapbook of some sort. Reading them over again when...when you felt lonely. I thought you'd draw some comfort, some closeness. I signed each and every one with my own hand! Do you know how hard that is?!" He slinks away. Then, to their mutual surprise, when he gets about ten feet from her, she feels a tug in her chest. Murphy brings a hand to her heart and can feel an invisible tether connecting her to Bob. He keeps walking and ends up dragging her a few steps, stopping when he hears her cry out. Now feeling very unsympathetic, Bob realizes their connection...grasps it on his end, and pulls her leash hard, making her stumble across the floor. He stands over her with a measure of vindictive satisfaction.

"All that...all for nothing! You don't care, and I wonder if you ever did!"

Murphy stands back up, not knowing what to make of their strange connection. "I did, Bob! Really! I just...look, no one told me how I'm supposed to do this! All I knew was you were sweet to me and thoughtful and kind. You have no idea how much mental gymnastics it took for me to rationalize that!"

"Why? Because I'm dead?!"

"No, because you're a man!"

Bob flinches, not sure whether to take her assertion as a compliment or an insult. "Don't...talk to me, or we'll end up fighting. Just be quiet, Miss Murphy."

The withdrawal of her pet name isn't lost on her; she doesn't give way to sadness, though. Instead, she tests the length of her chains by flailing fruitlessly at the front door. The door opens about ten minutes later, and Harry steps through.

"Harry, thank goodness you're here!" Bob greets him heartily. "Look, just look!"

The wizard looks around, seeing nothing amiss. "Look at what?"

Bob points accusingly at Murphy. "Just look what the cat dragged in."

Looking all around the room, Harry doesn't see anything. He looks right through Murphy without seeing her. "What? What are you talking about? Is Mister back?" He looks around hopefully for his lost cat. Bob waves dismissively, shaking his head.

"He means me, Harry. I died and got brought back here," Murphy tells him, not sure what to think of him not seeing her.

Harry gives Bob a funny look. "Are you going to tell me what you're talking about?"

"You don't see her? Hear her?"

"Who?"

"Your Lieutenant Murphy. She's dead and got brought back here, kicking and screaming, to fulfill her promise. And now I find out that all that effort I put into those letters was wasted energy. She never even looked at them. I'm such a fool." Still, despite his anger, he finds himself drifting towards her, reaching for her, and she inevitably pulls away, scared off by his strange eyes. They almost glaze over when they behold her, he looks like a starved wild animal with the scent of fresh blood in his nostrils. His fingers twitch, his breath shakes, his lips tremble with desire. Murphy gets as far from him as possible, to the point of uselessly taking refuge behind Harry. Bob simply reaches a hand toward her, pleadingly before his face becomes twisted into a scowl. "Fine. If that's the way you want to play it. Very well."

Harry looks behind him, seeing no one. "Is Murphy really here? No kidding?"

"No kidding," Bob assures him wretchedly. "And she hates me. I thought we were in love! I thought when she came back we'd be happy! I wanted to make her happy, so much!"

"I know, I heard, I wrote it for you. Remember? Bob...I hoped she felt that way, too. I really did. I wanted you two to be happy together and I thought maybe you would be. But here's the thing: somewhere along the line there was a communication breakdown and a lot of signals got lost or mixed up. I say give her a break before jumping on her too hard. She just got killed. Give her a few days of time-out and I guarantee she'll come around. Hey, with only you to talk to, she's bound to sooner or later, right? You'll patch things up. You were adorable together," Harry coaxes.

Bob listens with a scowl, but picking up the hidden message. Murphy will have to be made to miss him. She will draw near him again if she is reminded what loneliness is. He nods shortly and mists away into his skull, leaving his former lover with a man who can neither see nor hear her.

This knowledge strikes both Harry and Murphy as strange. Harry figures he'll just act as though she isn't there, just go about business as usual and maybe he'll even forget she's here. Murphy paces the floor, unable to get too far from Bob. This must be the "extra measure" her bringer mentioned when she tried to weasel out of her agreement.

Days pass where neither ghost acknowledges the other. Two grown adults have resorted to the silent treatment and it's wearing on them both. After this breaks down, the only times the silence is broken, they snipe at each other, picking little arguments, casting blame freely. Murphy in particular is suffering from this. Her only possible guide to being dead is driving her insane, and her only other friend in the world can't even interact with her. She's tired and restless, frustrated, confused, and lonely. Spending days pacing and watching and listening, it's growing tiresome. She decides she wants to make things right with Bob, but can't fathom how they can take back certain things. She's nit-picked him to death over his continued use of her affectionate nickname and his constant attempts to touch her. In the end, Bob retreats to his skull for some true peace and quiet. Never before has he thought it would be a blessing as well as a curse. Not a silent treatment, not a prolonged stupid argument, his soul craves solitude.

Now Bob emerges from his skull, feeling less angry than he did before. He's given it some thought, and while he's disappointed in this turn of events, he wants to patch things up if he can. Amid his disappointment, he feels a good share of empathy towards his cellmate, remembering what it was like to be new to all this. What he sees, however, startles him. Murphy...sitting in a chair, her face in her hands, her elbows propped up on the table. Bob is stricken utterly speechless, and approaches her out of sheer curiosity.

"How...how do you do that?"

"Do what?" Murphy mumbles, not uncovering her face. It's the first time he's spoken to her about anything genuine since her first day of the rest of her death.

It's feeling more natural, Bob thinks that bit by bit, they might repair their damaged relationship. "That—that, you're...you're sitting, you're touching things! Look at yourself, darling."

She brings her hands down and looks at Bob, then looks at herself sitting at the table...realizing that he couldn't do this. "Hey, you're right. How am I...?"

"Hmm..." Bob circles her in thought. "Perhaps we're not so very much the same as I thought." He draws his lips together pensively; Murphy watches him and unconsciously mimics his expression. As upset and confused and angry as she's been, she cannot deny her lingering attraction to the man. Still, they have a lot of ground to recover before they'll be back to where they began. Then Bob snaps his fingers in a moment of realization. "I've got it! You...you're a much more run-of-the-mill ghost than I am, which stands to reason because you're not under any curse. You might be joined to me and suffer your own limitations, but for the most part...Look here, you walked these halls in life, you're not just a shadow here. You exist, you can interact!"

"Then why can't Harry see or hear me?"

"Probably punishment for trying to get away. It's possible, no guarantee but _possible_ that that particular limitation may be dropped once you've...accepted your circumstances."

Murphy looks annoyed again, her momentary playful thoughts evaporate during Bob's lecture. "Accepted my circumstances," she repeats.

"Now don't quote me on that, it's only a suggestion." He lays a hand on her shoulder with a shaky breath of longing. His hand circles around her back, even such a platonic gesture seems unbearably sexy to him right now. His illusion of a heart pounds in his chest. It's then that she looks up at him and stands abruptly swatting his hand away irritably.

"Dammit, Bob! Will you stop it?!"

He clutches his hand that she'd struck. He hasn't felt actual physical pain in a long time. It's almost welcome in the present circumstances. "It's been so long, I haven't...it's been centuries, you know that. I've wanted..." He walks over to his skull, gives her a tug to urge her to follow after him. When she's by his side once again he points out her symbol amid the engravings. "Look at it, Miss Murphy. Oh, you don't know how much comfort, how much hope I've drawn from it, just from seeing it there. Even on horribly depressing days, I saw that there and thought 'Stanzi is coming! Someday, she'll be with me again!' and everything seemed all right."

From the lab, Harry hears Bob's sentimental pleadings and decides to rescue him. "Hey, Bob, can you come in here for a bit? I need your help."

"Coming!" Bob turns to Murphy again with sad eyes. "It's not fair, it's not fair!"

She just closes her eyes and holds her hands up, "Just go. Please."

"Stanzi-"

"And don't call me that!"

"Well, dammit, what _can_ I do?!" He grimaces and stomps off to the lab.

"What is your bidding, oh great and powerful Oz?" Bob intones mockingly.

This actually makes Harry laugh. If he knows one thing that makes Bob feel better, it's making fun of him. He's determined to sit back and enjoy the ghost's full arsenal of insults if it would raise the man's spirits. He's actually tempted to screw something up just to give Bob a reason to gloat.

"Just come here and look at this; I just got it in today."

Bob bends over to investigate, "Ah, eyebright. Although...yes, I can see why you called me in. This is most definitely better when used fresh and they sent us dried. The juice from the stems-"

"Exactly. Any way to salvage it?"

"You mean revive it." He drags a finger through the yellow powder, getting a good reading of it, and is disappointed with what it reveals. "Harry, this is pencil shavings. It may have held virtue once, but it's dead and gone."

Harry grins up at him, "Well, not everything that's dead can be as useful as you."

With a genuine smile, the ghost allows, "Ah, flattery."

"Bob? Want my advice about Murphy?"

The older man's face falls into dismal melancholy. "If you have any worth sharing."

"I think she still likes you." Bob scoffs with a toss of his head. "Seriously, I think she does. But...women don't like being grabbed at. You can't treat her like she's a sure thing. Maybe she hasn't been counting the days until you can be together, maybe she was just letting it sit until it happened and then, like she said, picking up where you left off. You're picking up a lot further down than where you left off."

"She didn't even read her letters," Bob grumps. "If she had, we'd be on the same page." He squints his eyes shut in realization. "That pun was terrible."

Harry sniggers, then grows somber. "Yeah, I can't figure out why she'd do that."

"She told me they scared her. Or at least the first one did, which is the only one she bothered to read." Bob crosses his arms over his chest and looks as cranky as ever. "I wasn't even trying to scare her. I want to be near her, to be close! I just want to hold her...I want her, Harry! It's not fair. She's here and she's real to me, and she's _mine! _"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Just cool it, all right? Man, you're scaring _me_ when you talk like that! No wonder she's not happy with you. I know it's been a long time, but just force yourself to wait just a little longer. Okay? If you quit acting like a crazy person and maybe try acting like the guy she fell in love with in the first place, call me crazy but I think that should do the trick."

Unable to say anything more on the subject, both men leave the lab. Just as they're entering the front room, they see Murphy wisp away in a silver and blue sparkle. She leaves a glittering trail behind her as she zips into Bob's skull, having finally taken his advice.

"Wow!" Harry breathes. "Was that...?"

"You could see her?"

"That was Murphy?"

Bob nods, looking at his skull. "Beautiful. I knew she had a good soul, but I never even imagined what she'd look like. Absolutely beautiful."

"Yeah. I thought all ghosts were like-"

With a sneer, Bob faces his owner, "Don't insult the dead by comparing them all to me. I know full well what I look like and I'm not...not proud of it. No wonder she doesn't want me to touch her," he breathes regretfully.

"I'm sure that's not the reason. She wouldn't think of you like that."

"It's what I am," Bob insists sorrowfully. "The sweetest creature ever to walk into my life, and I grab and snatch at her like a wild beast in heat."

Harry cocks an eyebrow with a smirk. "I thought you _were_ a wild beast in heat." Both men snigger at the crude joke, still gazing at the skull. Harry nods at it, giving his ghost a significant look. Bob nods.

"I'm going in."

"Good luck."

Bob gives his friend a determined grin and mists away.

In the skull, Murphy feels her friend arrive, gives a short shriek of alarm and tries to get out of his way. Bob nestles in comfortably and the two spirits regard each other. They press against each other in the close quarters, and strangely enough, Murphy doesn't object.

"Hello, my dear. Comfy?"

She's silent for a long time. It's hardly necessary for them to speak, she gets the general idea of what he's thinking. Notions of his conversation with Harry float into her, although she didn't hear any of it. His frustration at being _able_ to touch her but suddenly not _allowed._ The hurt he feels that she brushed him aside without warning, left him high and dry. Murphy sighs and cuddles up to him. "I like it in here. It's nicer. Easier. Don't you think?"

He, also, gets a taste of what's on her mind. Her shame at ignoring him, her nerves and fright at having recently been killed and then beset by a groping ghost. Her conflicting feelings for her fellow ghost. He senses deeper down that she was very much in love with him, but was too unsure of herself to continue the affair. Her disbelief that anyone could feel that way for her...

"Stanzi..." he senses how much she likes his name for her, despite her objections.

"Bob, I'm so sorry."

"Shh, it's all right, dear."

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I...look, this is going to sound horrible but I never knew men had feelings. None of the men I've known apart from you and Harry really acted like it. And then...having it all pouring in like that. How could I have responded to that? Even dropping in to visit after what you wrote to me? I'm just really bad at this, at relationships. I can't keep up, you're out of my league."

"Your league?"

"I mean, let's face it, I don't know what I am but you're a 10. I'd be ashamed to reply to letters like yours. If the others were anything like the first one, that is." She falls silent again and lets his soul envelop her. "Oh, this feels so nice."

Bob smiles, "This is what it felt like when you held me. Remember?"

"This? Oh, Bob, I'd have done it more often if I'd known that!"

With a dark chuckle, the older gentleman pulls her close, their spirits mingling cozily. Together, they sense something new: forgiveness. The wasted weeks of pointless quibbling vanished like smoke, and they're almost right back to square one. In their case, square one is a perfectly lovely place to be.

Out in the office, Harry keeps an eye on the skull, wondering if his friends are still fighting, wondering how tight a squeeze it is for two of them to fit in there together.

"I never required you to write back, you know. Besides, if you did, I wouldn't expect you to write the way I do. That would be odd, wouldn't it? If you started talking like me?"

Murphy laughs, "It was a stupid thing to worry about. I just didn't want to look...uncouth and unlettered by comparison. I can't paint with words like you."

Bob cuddles her spirit comfortably, "Well, I love you, uncouth and unlettered as you may well be."

There isn't anything Murphy can say to that, so she just lies with him, letting him read her soul if he wants to. She lets things surface that she's told to no one; her uncertainty, her lack of experience in a happy love affair. All of her doubts, hopes, and fears come bubbling up for him to sample. In return, he does the same. He gives her a glimpse of the worst he's been, a taste of what his long imprisonment did to him, his joy at being entrusted with Harry, and then when he'd been placed in Harry's care. How his humanity had come blooming back then. He feels as though it had made him ready, made him worthy of his dear Stanzi. Bob then conveys his relief that they've made up at last.

The two spirits lie together in contented silence, their hurts healing, their wrongs forgiven.

About an hour later, Harry sees a pillar of smoke and a sparkling trail of silver headed with glowing blue rise up out of the skull. When they touch down and take human form, he sees Bob in a loosely-tied brocade dressing gown and Murphy wearing what looks like one of Bob's silky dress shirts in the same deep shade of red as his robe ...and nothing else. Not feeling the least bit self-conscious, Murphy grins at Harry, realizing from his eye-contact that he can see her. She gives a soft giggle before turning to cling to her beau, looking about as sexy as she feels.

"Hi," she says simply.

"Hi yourself," Harry replies. "Looks like you two stopped fighting."

Bob smirks, then turns with an alluring pout at his intended. He knows his mouth drives her wild. Sure enough, she stares as though hypnotized. She runs her tongue over her teeth suggestively and he bends down and kisses her. He seizes her around her waist, scoops her up and sits her on the kitchen counter. Harry backs away from them, giving them some space.

"Okay, okay, I get it. Murphy, good to see you. I'm just going to..." he points vaguely outside. "I'll leave you to it, okay?"

"Tie's on the doorknob, Harry," Bob murmurs between kisses. "Oh, god, I've wanted this for so long!"

"I missed you, Bob. I missed you-missed you-missed you," Murphy sighs.

And then she awakens. Her eyes fly open automatically as she is released from the spell's grip. The sun is shining; it looks like it must be afternoon by now. Murphy sits up slowly, groping for her phone, still feeling rather flushed from her dream's happy conclusion. She dials Harry's number, hoping he's in.


	4. Chapter 4

"Harry Dresden, friendly local wizard," he answers.

"Hi, Harry, it's me."

The wizard grins, looking between the phone and his friend. They share a raised eyebrow. He'd told Bob what he'd done to Murphy, and after explaining why he did it, the ghost was behind him 100 percent. It certainly seemed as though the punishment fit that particular crime.

"Interesting dreams last night?"

There's a long pause as she remembers it all. "You could say that. Harry, thank you."

"You're thanking me?"

She nods to herself with a soft purr, "Mmm, yeah. I needed that. Can you put Bob on?"

Harry makes an odd face, looking very confused. She doesn't sound like she's just been punished; she actually sounds as though she enjoyed it! "Uh, sure, here he is." He holds the phone out for Bob, who steps up and holds his head near it.

"Stanzi, dear, is that you?"

The sound of his voice is enough of a catalyst. She gushes like she's trying to get it out all in one breath: "Oh, Bob, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to brush you off like that, it's just that I've never gotten letters before in my life, certainly nothing like that, from any man of any description...I have no idea what I'm doing but I'd really like to do it with you—oh god I didn't mean that! Well, I mean, I...never mind. I don't know what I'm saying, but can you give me another chance? Thank you so much for the gifts, everyone who passed my desk yesterday remarked on them, the delivery guys didn't know what to think. I don't know what I'm supposed to do from here, though, what can I do for you? I can't, I..."

"Stanzi..." Bob gets a word in. She stops babbling and listens. "You're quite forgiven, thank you for being honest with me at last. I'd like very much to see you if that would be possible."

Murphy is still quite out of breath, "Uh huh," she gasps. Craning her neck to find her alarm clock, she checks the time. She's slept until 2:30! Groaning at a whole day wasted in some wizard's hocus-pocus dreamland, she turns back to the phone. "Sure, I can be over in a little bit if you like. If you're not too busy."

"Oh, we'll try to pencil you in to our busy schedule. Harry, fetch me my diary, I want to cancel this afternoon's appointments," he drawls sarcastically with a sinister laugh. "What time do you think you'll be over?"

Murphy thinks about it for a bit, wandering through her home. She reaches the table at the entryway, finds the stack of Bob's letters... Taking the latest one out of her birthday flowers, she adds it to the pile. "About an hour or so, there's something I need to do first."

"Excellent. We'll see you shortly. Goodbye, dear."

"See you soon, Bob. Bye."

She brings the fruit basket over near the couch, settles down with her stack of letters and rereads his first one. Knowing now that Bob wasn't holding himself up as an example to live up to, to duplicate, she is able to enjoy it fully. When she finishes, she examines the wax seal he used on the envelope, wondering where in the world Harry would have found such a thing. Murphy can just hear Bob bossing Harry around through the fundamentals of formal letter-writing. She laughs shortly at the thought. Done with the first one, she gets up and makes a pot of mugwort tea. She's just gotten to the end of the stash she's laid in, and now wonders if their plant could use some more pruning back. Now, fully armed with necessary refreshments, she is ready to read through the others. Murphy takes her time, feeling quite comfortable, nibbling her way through her fruit basket as she reads. She can easily hear Bob's voice in her head dictating the words; she can sense the care and precision he put into choosing just what he wanted to say. She finishes the last one with a sigh, kissing the paper and touching it to her forehead. Another thing she realizes is the changing seals on the backs. He alternated between a rose, an H, a pentacle, and pair of birds perched on a heart. The last one is the most touching piece she could imagine, as he dreamed up their wedding down the road, how he looked forward to carrying her over the proverbial threshold into his skull, which Harry could be convinced to fix up into a love nest. "I had no idea men could love like that," she murmurs aloud as she sets it down at last. Murphy wipes her hand across her face, and finds that she's been weeping. It's time to get in gear. She heads to the bathroom and takes a shower, preens and dresses. She gathers the letters up and puts them in her purse, knowing what she must do with them.

Now that the urge to go see Bob is stronger than ever, Murphy's only regret is that they won't be able to touch each other, and she really needs a hug from him right now! She hops in the car and heads on over, making one short stop along the way. She enters the wizard's shop, not even bothering to knock on her way in. Both men look up.

Bob and Murphy stare at each other; she trots to his side, looking him up and down. Bob draws a hand down near her cheek and she presses into it, enduring the sensation of cold mist.

"Oh, I wish I were dead," she sighs.

Bob looks over at his master, and without a word he conveys his request, punctuating it with a protruding bottom lip.

"No, Bob. It's not gonna happen. You can quit making faces at me, it's not going to work."

"What?" Murphy asks, looking between the two men.

"He wants to use my body," Harry explains with a shudder. "And he can forget it!"

"But, Harry..."

"No buts, Bob! Look, I know you think you'd just want it for a minute, just for a little while, but think about it. After your time's up, do you really think you'll be able to get out and leave it at that? Do you think you won't be asking me to let you do it again? And again?" Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I'd do anything to help you...except that." He turns to Murphy, who's been looking between the men in her life, obviously thinking about Bob's suggestion. "And you...I wouldn't want to do that to you, not you. You're my friend, a colleague. You're someone I respect and want to be able to work with in the future without getting weird. I can't do that if Bob's going to make me get all..." he trails off, turning away. "The answer is no, and that's final. You guys are just going to have to figure it out by yourselves."

Sadly but resolutely, Bob nods. "You're absolutely right. That wouldn't be fair to you. I understand. I'm sure we both understand," he gives Murphy a look. "I'm glad you came back, my dear," he sighs. They stand close together, looking simultaneously happy and sad.

Murphy snaps out of it first; she picks up Bob's skull and holds it to her chest. As little satisfaction as she gets from it, she remembers how much Bob likes it, and feels she owes him what small measure of comfort she can give to him. She gives it a kiss and looks up for Bob's reaction.

"I'm...so glad you're back," he repeats huskily, reaching a hand toward her. She takes a seat on the couch, holding the skull in her lap, just smiling up at him. "It's been over a month, Stanzi, I'm sure your supplies have run low. Do help yourself before you go."

"I just made up the last of it today, actually. I think I'm hooked," she jokes.

"Best not overdo it in that case. It loses effectiveness if you're too used to it," Bob advises. _Dammit, is that all we can talk about when we're face to face? The stupid plants?! _He claps a hand over his forehead and scowls to himself

Murphy looks like she's thinking along the same lines, although it brings out amusement rather than annoyance. _Here's the man who sent me all those long, flowery letters, proclaiming his love and admiration...but once I'm here in person, all he can talk about is his magical herbs. _She giggles softly at the thought.

Bob whirls around and looks beseechingly at his master. "Make me stop! Forbid me to talk like this, make it a command, do something! I am, in any other circumstance, a perfectly eloquent, well-spoken, knowledgeable human being. I've charmed ladies of all descriptions over the past thousand years. Why can't I stop going on about the blasted house plants?!" In his distress, he'd completely discounted the fact that Murphy could hear him. He lays himself at Harry's mercy. "For gods' sakes, help me!"

Harry is trying not to laugh at his troubled friend, he gestures for him to follow and they walk a few steps away for some "privacy". Harry scratches his chin thoughtfully and whispers, "Why don't you ask her what she's doing today? Look interested. Tell her she looks nice, tell her what you're up to. Or...you could just talk about plants all day." He gives him a pretend shoulder-nudge.

"I think my conversation skills are permanently atrophied, Dresden!" he hisses frustratedly. "Reduced to a rank amateur." _The only other person I was this ridiculously tongue-tied with was Winifred. _His thoughts drift back to those days long ago, chasing the lovely young sorceress around the haystacks before ensnaring her in his magical grip, as she welcomed him in with open arms and a few enchantments of her own. Too shy to speak, he'd let his magic do the talking, and it worked just fine. With a nostalgic sigh, Bob can almost hear her musical laughter in his head, smell the flowers in her hair. He takes a moment to wonder where she is now, if she was able to go on to Heaven or if she got reincarnated, or...punished...Bob shakes himself, _That was centuries ago! Blasted curse...'incapable of moving on'. Can't I at least "move on" from _her_?! _He fusses, pacing, wondering how in the world his beloved has reduced him back to the speechless, gawky, gangling young man he can barely remember being.

"Bob, Bob, what are you thinking?" Harry asks with growing concern. He isn't used to seeing his friend this upset.

"I'm thinking I want to go back in time and punch myself in the face!"

"We all do, Bob. That's normal. Just talk to her! You've written her reams of sonnets for Pete's sake. You can manage a conversation, can't you? 'Hi. Nice day, isn't it? I've just been busy this afternoon convincing my friend here that I'm a certified lunatic. How's your day been?' You have a sexy voice. You're English! Whatever you say, she'll drink it up!"

"Really?"

"Look, if you don't get a-wooing, I'm going to start thinking all those stories you told me were all talk."

Now with renewed resolve, and with his honor on the line, Bob squares his shoulders and returns to his lady's side.

Seeing him in such a state actually does Murphy worlds of good. As uncomfortable as she was when faced with the task of writing to him, she finds that Bob is just as bad at speaking...at least when his audience is a woman he truly likes.

"So...when Harry...when he showed you what would happen...what did you see?" Bob asks conversationally.

"Us," she smiles up at him. "And...just how bad at this we both are!" She laughs, "I mean, it's true, isn't it? Just look at us." Her laughter is contagious, soon even Bob joins in after one last moment of trying to look serious. Harry watches from across the room, grinning himself. His friend has had precious few reasons to laugh over the years, so he's glad that his spell seems to be helping them.

When Murphy finally stops, she stands up, taking out the stack of letters from her purse. "I finally read them today. Thank you." She flips through the pages, still amazed that he's thought that much of her to write so much. She tucks them safely back in her purse, promising herself that she'll do something with them when she gets home.

"Oh, it was nothing," Bob flutters, still giggling.

"No, it...it was something."

He cocks his head to the side thoughtfully. "You read all of them?" She nods with a shy smile. "You read the one I sent you yesterday with your flowers?" Again, she just nods silently. Bob draws a deep, shuddering breath, fidgeting nervously. "And...?"

Harry starts nervously, remembering the content of the last letter he wrote. He crosses all of his fingers and toes, praying that no one does anything stupid to wreck it.

"Well, it's certainly not what's usual. I mean...I can't imagine explaining this to my parents...or to anyone else for that matter. And you have to admit it's all happened kind of fast...but..." she looks up at him and melts, remembering his sweet words and promises, his heart laid bare on the page. She nods, murmuring, "yes."

Bob goes wild! He whoops excitedly and has to stop himself from lunging at her. They freeze a centimeter away from each other, both of them letting out soft groans of frustration.

Harry grimaces to himself before stomping out of his hiding place. "Okay, okay, but just for a minute. And that's it, understand?"

"Thank you," Bob breathes, barely able to contain himself. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, wringing his hands. "Stanzi, dear, close your eyes for this. I, uh...I'd rather you not...see me like this."

Murphy is confused, and just as excited. She obeys, giggling again with nerves. She hears a whooshing sound and suddenly feels Harry's arms tight around her, lifting her up off her feet! In spite of what Bob has just told her, her eyes fly open as he sets her down again. She scans the room and can't see him anywhere. "Bob?"

"I'm here, darling, I'm here," he murmurs into her neck, laying wet kisses all along it.

"But..." disobeying him completely, she stares him full in the face, looking him up and down in alarm.

"Shh. It's me, Stanzi. Please don't look at me. Harry was good enough to help us, but I don't want him to be the one you see. Not now, not today." Bob brings his hands around her cheeks and just nuzzles her forehead, kissing and smelling her all over. "Oh, god, you're delightful!"

Again, she closes her eyes and kisses her fiance. "Oh...oh, please stay. Stay with me. Stay," she pleads, pressing her face against his chest.

The whole time, Harry tries not to think about what he's doing, what Bob is doing in his body, at the words pouring out of his mouth. He has to resist the urge to cover it in embarrassment.

"You're...you're so warm and soft. Darling...My Stanzi."

With her eyes still shut tight, she reaches her hand out to touch his face. Bob takes Murphy's hand to guide it, kissing her palm and wrist.

"Did you mean it?" he asks softly.

"Mean what?"

"What you said."

"You mean that I'd marry you?"

Bob chuckles, "One can never hear it enough."

They're both calming down now, and Murphy still holds on tight. "I will. I'm not going to do anything to speed it along-"

"Oh no, of course not." Bob pets her, stroking her hair. "I wouldn't want that. But, when your number's up..." he trails off, letting her fill in the blanks.

"Yeah. I'll come back. Willingly. I promise."

It's then that Harry cuts in, "Okay, you two. It's all very sweet, congratulations. Time to get out, Bob." Not wanting to leave just yet, Bob holds Murphy tighter. "Now, Bob! Time's up!"

Murphy opens her eyes and gives him a nod. "Better let him go, Bob. I still have to work with him after this," she gives a weak laugh.

_What's your favorite part of her?_ Harry asks internally.

_Her hands. She has such nice hands. She's absolutely beautiful, but those hands...I want them!_ Bob confesses.

With a firm spiritual shove, Harry kicks the ghost out of his body. "So tell her that."

Bob stumbles a little on his way out, straightening his jacket, brushing off his sleeves. His fussy behavior brings a smile to Murphy's face. She wishes she could help straighten him up.

"Thank you, Harry. That was wonderful," Bob tells him honestly. He turns to Murphy and takes his master's advice. "I think you ought to know, my dear, you have very nice hands." He glances over his shoulder and Harry gives him the OK signal.

Murphy grins at him, "Well, thank you."

"I don't mean to suggest the rest of you is...less than remarkable. But..." he trails off pointlessly.

She fidgets a bit, looking curiously at her hands, wondering what's so special about them that they'd be her most salient feature. "Thank you," she says again, hoping to set him at ease. "You have a sexy mouth...great smile," she adds, blushing. Neither of them is used to being this up front with their desires. They've both been taught from a young age that you don't just go up to that special someone and tell them the parts of them that make you go all funny.

"Dresden's spell wasn't too traumatizing, I take it?"

Murphy shakes her head, "No, I needed to see that. I shouldn't have just disappeared on you like that. Even if we have troubles sometimes, we can at least be grownups about it, right? You write so beautifully; I'd be embarrassed to answer that. What can I even do?"

Looking and sounding much more like his usual self, Bob reminds her, "Well, you could come over and visit more often."

She nods in agreement. "So what are you fellas up to today?" She looks over at Harry, not wanting to relegate him to being a third wheel. Plus, including him in the conversation will be good insurance against Bob and her simply making eyes and giggling at each other for the rest of the day.

Harry answers, avoiding looking at Murphy. He's still recovering from Bob's borrowing his body. "Not too much today, actually. Business is kind of slow. Good day for you to swing by, actually."

"What do you guys do when it's like this?"

"Try to stay out from underfoot," Bob replies. "No easy task."

"Hear, hear," Harry grumbles.

Bob turns to him, looking irritated with his hands on his hips. "For your information, it's no picnic to be walked through, either."

Murphy shakes her head with a grin, watching these two comfortably snipe at each other. The rest of the visit goes well. Now that the initial pressure is finally off, she and Bob can start acting like adult human beings instead of a pair of lovesick teenagers. They find they can talk about everyday things together, sharing work stories, telling about themselves, their likes and dislikes. It's becoming much easier, especially with Harry there to keep silences from forming. It's certainly an improvement!

Soon, it's evening, and Murphy needs to be heading out. When she gets home, she gets some shopping bags out of the back of the car. On her way down to see Harry and Bob she picked up some supplies, and she now sits down to piece together a scrapbook.

She slots the letters in nicely, adding personal notes on the sides. She presses a few of her birthday flowers to add in later. She tries to recall her semi-prophetic dream as well as she can and put it down on paper. As unpleasant as some parts of it were, she feels they deserve to be remembered, at least as a caution against letting things get bad again. Murphy adds a note that she can't wait to curl up with Bob in his skull again.

Later that night, she gets out her other shopping bag...takes out a sheaf of writing paper decorated with a floral motif, gives it a spritz of her usual body spray, arranges her new calligraphy set, and begins:

"Dear Bob,

It was nice to see you today. I'm glad we patched things up. I really enjoyed reading your letters at last. I'll be on a bit of a stretch this week, so my next day off won't be for a while, but I'll definitely see if I can swing by. I'm not sure how to juggle this if I end up at your place on business, but I think we can both behave ourselves in that case. Hope you're doing all right. I'll see you soon, I'm sure.

Love,

Your Stanzi"

After reading over the letter, pleased that she hasn't made too much of a mess of it, Murphy lets it dry before tucking it into an envelope. Feeling a bit fancy now, she drips gold wax on it and seals it with a heart. Late that night, she drives by the shop front and slides it under the door, feeling like she's a kid playing ding-dong-ditch as she runs away.

The next morning, Harry stumbles downstairs to make a pot of coffee, and sees something by the front door.

"Hey, Bob? Did you hear anything last night?"

Swirling out of his skull, the ghost looks from his master to his line of sight. He cocks an eyebrow. "No, I didn't hear anything." Then he adopts a sarcastically serious tone, shooing the wizard along. "It could be dangerous. You go first."

Harry grumbles, shooting Bob a dirty look as he goes to check it out. He picks up the envelope, looks at the back, gives it a sniff. "It's for you..." he sing-songs with a teasing grin. He opens it as Bob draws near, lurking behind to read over his shoulder with animated eyes. "She even spritzed it with her lavender stuff."

"Ooh!"

After they read it together, Harry sets it under Bob's skull for safekeeping. "Atta girl, Murphy. I knew you had it in you."

"She's not as bad at that as she said she was," Bob notes.

"You're a tough act to follow, I guess. She probably had stage fright."


	5. Chapter 5

For several weeks, things continue like this. Between writing and visiting, Murphy and Bob establish a solid relationship. After they've been together for several months, Murphy gets a bit bolder...

She gets to the store front; Dresden's Jeep isn't anywhere to be seen. She lets herself in and hunts around for her beau. After a quick glance, Murphy finds his skull and scoops it up. "Bob, come out, you're coming with me!"

Bob floats on out and takes shape. "Oh, hello, dear."

Murphy beams at him, shoving his skull in her purse. "I'm busting you out! We're going to have a day of it: together, like people do!"

"Stanzi, dear...I really don't think Harry will like this."

"I wrote him a note telling him I've got you and you're okay," Murphy assures him. "You deserve it, we both do. He can't begrudge us that."

It's true, his time out of doors has been sadly limited over many years. He tries not to fault Harry for it, but he's often felt cooped up. "You'd better wait, pet. He'll be very angry, I know it."

Murphy, however, is utterly remorseless. "Let him."

Two hours later, Harry returns from his assignment. Another "Case of the Missing Car Keys" solved, without the help of the Scooby-Doo gang. When he gets to the counter, however, he finds something horribly amiss. He sees a handwritten note where Bob's skull normally sits. The wizard feels his insides fill with ice and his hands shake as violent flashbacks zip through his mind. He forgets to breathe. Dreading what it contains, he opens the note...

"Hey, Harry!

Just borrowed Bob for the day. Hope you don't mind. I have a great time planned for us! He'll be home safely before curfew, I promise.

-Murphy"

He reads it over again, torn between relief and anger. Relief, that Bob was safe and in good hands, with someone who would be equally devastated if anything happened to him. Anger, that she would so callously "borrow" him without discussing it with him first. He paces the floor, weighing out his options. On the one hand, Bob did deserve a day out. He could even go so far as to allow that Bob and Murphy deserve a day out together. Still...if anyone saw him, if anyone saw anything _funny_..." Harry dials her number.

Bob and Murphy are in the park taking in some local live music when her phone rings, making both of them jump. She checks the caller I.D. And gulps. "It's Harry."

"I told you!" Bob hisses warningly.

She takes a deep breath and answers. "Hi, Harry."

"Where's Bob?"

"He's here with me, we're..."

"Having a great day out together?"

Murphy smiles weakly, giving Bob a guilty look. "We are, actually."

"Is he safe? Has anyone _noticed_ anything?!" Harry growls.

"We're not doing anything conspicuous. He's just fine."

"Put him on."

Clearing her throat, Murphy holds the phone up to Bob's ear, they both look like they're waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Harry, hello! We're having a most remarkable time. Wish you were here! There was a poetry reading at a cafe, then we visited this lovely garden center and arboretum. It was absolutely stunning! Now we're watching some young, impoverished troubadours playing music in the park. I never knew we lived in such a wonderful place! Stanzi said there will be fireworks tonight, perhaps even a sporting match to take in..."

Harry stares at the receiver, once again undecided over whether to lay down the law or let his friends have their fun. "Sounds great, Bob. I'm glad you're all right. You don't know how much that freaked me out to find you gone like that."

"Oh yes, I can imagine. I worried about the same thing, to be honest. Still, Miss Murphy swore to me that you trusted her implicitly. I promise, Harry, she won't let anything happen to me."

"Yeah...yeah. I'm just...so glad you're okay," he chokes, still reeling from the Worst Case Scenario that loomed before him moments ago. "Okay, all right...put Murphy back on."

She almost sounds meek now, hearing how shaken Harry has been. "Are you really mad? Bob said you would be."

"We'll talk about this when you bring him home. There are some things you just can't talk about over the phone. No fireworks, no Cubs game, not tonight. You're coming straight home. Understand?"

The line goes dead, and Murphy looks at Bob with guilt written all over her face. "This was probably a bad idea."

Bob surveys her with a grumpy expression, "Whatever was your first clue? I do thank you, though. It has been a most remarkable day."

Together, they heave a regretful sigh, standing as close as they can. Bob leans over and mimics kissing her forehead, bringing a blush and a smile to both of their faces. They stand there a moment, gazing into each other's eyes, prolonging the moment of getting dragged back to face the music. A few more minutes couldn't hurt.

A man with a sketchpad has been enjoying the day outdoors as well. One of his particular hobbies is watching people, drawing what he sees just to keep his arm in. He saw this odd-looking couple walk in half an hour ago. For exactly fifteen seconds he assumed it was a father and daughter, until he saw the way they acted together, the way they spoke to each other. Even a cynical city boy like him had to say, "Aww". He decides to draw them. The old gentleman sounds like he's having the best day of his life. The young amateur artist sketches them, determined to give these total strangers a souvenir of their date. He fills in blank spaces with pastels, looking up now and then in hopes of getting their facial expressions... He actually feels a bit jealous, but at the same time glad that there is still that much happiness in the world. Once it's finished, he tugs on the lady's jacket and hands it to her. He's been unable to capture the smoldering looks they shared, and so sufficed by simply drawing an understated pink heart between their heads.

Murphy smiles and shows it to Bob. "It's us," she tells him unnecessarily.

"It's perfect," Bob agrees. He thinks of how appropriate a way that was to capture their moment. He certainly wouldn't show up on film or in a digital photograph. Murphy digs in her purse and comes up with a 10 dollar bill, which the artist declines.

"No charge. You two are adorable," the artist assures them, taking his leave.

Bob and Murphy just stand there together, enjoying the sweet, floating sensations for a few minutes more. Then they both remember, it's time to go.

Once they reach Harry's door, they find him waiting for them with his hand outstretched. He repeats the "give" signal with dark eyes. Equally wordlessly, Murphy places the skull in his hand, stroking it lovingly before surrendering it. Only when it's back in his hands does Harry relax. It sounds like he'd been holding his breath all this time! He clutches the skull to his chest, petting it, as though reassuring himself that Bob is home, safe and sound.

"Thank goodness you're all right," the younger man gasps as Bob approaches him contritely.

"I did have a wonderful time."

"Good, that's good...but dammit, Murphy, you had no right! No right to take him! You think you can just waltz on in here and...you know what you did could count as kidnapping!"

Murphy steps forward, unable to fathom why Harry is acting this way. "I left you a note saying we were together and that we'd be back soon. We talked on the phone to confirm he was safe. He came with me willingly, so that doesn't count as kidnapping."

"You took his skull. He had no choice. He even told you it was a bad idea, didn't he?" Harry is getting worked up and starting up a good head of steam.

"He did, I don't understand why, though. He wanted to come...didn't you?" she asks him.

Bob agrees, "I wanted very much to come with you. I only knew it would...upset Harry."

"What's he even got to do with it? You're your own person. You don't need to ask his permission to go out."

Here, Bob feels the need to correct her, "Well, actually..."

Murphy looks between the two men. "Actually, what?"

"Technically, my dear, I'm _not_ my own person. Harry does, in fact, _own_ me. What you did could either qualify as kidnapping or grand theft. Removal of valuable personal property without express permission of its...owner."

She can't believe this. "Harry, you...you don't _own_ Bob, do you?"

"Actually, I do."

Not sure how to react to this, she rounds on Bob, "And, what, you're just fine with that?"

"He's certainly better than others I've had."

"But...but...you're..." Murphy wrinkles her nose, "are you his..." she can't bring herself to say the word-

"Slave?" Bob supplies helpfully. "Well, let's think about that. I'm bound to his service, I don't get paid, I _must_ obey his direct commands..."

Murphy claps a hand over her mouth, looking at Harry in disgust. "You keep him as your slave?!"

"He's not my slave. Murphy, you're overreacting!"

"So, when you got home and found him gone, were you upset that your friend was missing or that your personal property had been taken?!"

Bob feels that's crossed a line. "Stanzi, dear, that's not fair. You don't know what you're saying."

"I can't believe this! I cannot believe this about either of you!"

"He's not that bad," Bob argues on his master's behalf. "Not like the others. Darling, if you'd known _any_ of the others...Harry is my friend, he's not a slave-driver. He's my friend! He's...he's more than that, he's the very son of my heart! We care for each other. Given the choice of being passed on to Harry through conventional means and being snatched up by the High Council to be rented out to the next power-hungry maniac, I stand with Harry Dresden."

Even Harry is speechless by the ghost's assertions. "Wow, Bob...thanks."

Murphy doesn't know what to say. She's accepted an awful lot from these two...can she accept this? She thinks back over the past several weeks, wishing she could come up with something that could have clued her into that part of their relationship. She can't think of anything apart from Bob telling her early on that Harry sometimes sends him to his skull when he's annoyed. At the time, she didn't give it much thought, since she was coping with enough at the time already. Not once has she been witness to Harry bossing Bob around. Even just a little while ago on the phone, he didn't sound as though he was upset that a valuable possession had gone missing, rather he was worried about whether or not his friend was all right. Murphy heaves a sigh, shaking her head and looking at the floor. These men love each other like family, regardless of their master/servant relationship. They're all the family they have.

"I know it sounds...distasteful, especially to a compassionate, modern woman like you. The truth is, I am, as you say, fine with that. You have no idea what I've endured. Going from my long line of previous owners to Harry, and calling it the same thing, would be like serving the majority of a life sentence in the Bastille and then being 'imprisoned' in the bower of luxury."

"Wow, never thought this place would get called that," Harry remarks, still touched at Bob's pronouncement.

"Kindness and friendship are luxury enough. Morningway Estate...while plush, left me cold," Bob reminds him in an understatement.

"Your uncle's place?" Murphy asks Harry.

"Yeah, I lived with him after he killed my dad," Harry answers with a black look. "Of course, at the time, I didn't know about that part yet. Anyway, Bob and I took to each other like a house on fire. One good thing came of all that, and that was Bob. I couldn't have done it without him. Then, that time last year when the case of Justin's death was reopened..." he looks at her significantly, "Bob was taken by the bastard's doppelganger. He...he gave Bob a body in return for bringing the real Justin back to life. F-for a minute there I thought he'd really gone over, that Bob was lured back into his service, to betray me." He looks at the ghost, both men are now in tears. "But he wasn't. Not by a long shot. He saved me, re-killed Justin...and when I was on the brink of death he shot his own life force into me to save me. He died all over again in my arms. I...I always wanted to...and when I got to, he was d- ..." It's too much: his voice peters out into sobs, that horrible day suddenly fresh in his mind once more. "So when I got home today and found him gone-"

"Oh god..." Murphy gasps, covering her mouth. She imagines it with new sympathy for the man. What an awful reminder that must have been!

"I knew you'd be upset. I should have told her no. I should have put my foot down."

Quick to regain his composure, Harry waves it aside, sniffling. "It's all right, sounds like you had a great day. You should finish up. Really. You deserve it. You both do. Murphy, I should've known that if he was with you then he was okay. I just _hate_ not having him in sight, not knowing where he is! I hate it! I'm glad you're showing him such a good time. Those are some sweet things you took him to see. You know him, you get him. That's great. You can still make it to the game if you want."

"You mean it?"

"Yeah, yeah, Murph. I'm done being mad. Get out of here, you two, okay? Just bring him straight home."

"What, no time for hanky-panky?" Bob asks, pretending to look disappointed.

"Not on a school night," the wizard quips, handing the skull back over to Murphy.

She sets the skull down for a moment and gives her friend a hug. "Hey, Harry, look at this. Some guy in the park drew us." She holds up the picture for him to see.

"That's cute. Did you notice this? He drew you holding hands." That detail has escaped them both. They didn't have time to examine it closely at the park, as they were too filled with dread about facing the music for playing hooky together. Bob leans over and looks at it now, and both of the drawing's subjects silently wish it were true.

It's late when they get back, but they've both had an excellent day. Murphy walks into the wizard's shop and drops into a chair with the skull in her lap.

Bob bends over her and draws his fingers against her cheek. The chill rouses her somewhat. "You're exhausted," he observes, continuing to just graze her.

"Just for a minute..." she mumbles as she finds herself drifting off to sleep where she sits.

Bob purses his lips in thought, looking upstairs where Harry is sleeping, back to his girlfriend, wondering if he's supposed to wake anyone. Instead, he just smiles down at her. She has his skull clutched tightly even in her sleep. He returns to it and enjoys the close feelings it brings him all night.

The next morning, Harry comes downstairs and finds Murphy still asleep in the chair. It looks like she's starting to wake up, she shifts position and holds the skull tighter, making soft crooning sounds at it. Then, without warning, she wakes with a start, screaming shortly and sitting bolt upright! She sees Harry and now Bob standing over her as well, peering at her as she just stares up at them silently.

"Bad dream, my dear? I heard my name come up a few times, although I've never heard you use my whole one before."

"I was shot, you carried me..." she holds her forehead in her hands, trying to remember. "You carried me," she repeats in a whisper. "But...it was different. You were...really different, frightening, powerful. I think I died, even, and you...stopped it or brought me back." She shudders. "I'm so glad it was just a dream."

Harry flinches at her story, but Bob looks flabbergasted. He stares at her in disbelief, hardly daring to wonder, to hope! "You were shot, you said? With a firearm?"

She shakes her head, rubbing a hand over her chest. "No, that's the weird part. It was an arrow, I think."

Both men look at Murphy, then back at each other. Harry gives Bob a questioning look, mouths a word or a name, subtly pointing, to which Bob nods, looking stricken.

By now, Murphy has gotten over her fright, and is fully awake. "Guys? It _was_ just a dream, wasn't it? That didn't really happen to me, did it?"

"Not to you, no," Bob promises her. "Another life. Nothing...nothing to worry about. But...yes, well, that explains a lot." He gives a wild, manic laugh that sounds out of place in the tense atmosphere. "You'd better get home, Stanzi. I had a...wonderful time yesterday. I cannot thank you enough."

She nods, curious what all that dream business was about, why Harry and Bob took it so seriously. She stands and stretches, chalking it up to them being a couple of kooks. _Par for the course_. Murphy looks at them both one more time. "Well, see you later. Sorry for falling asleep, Harry."

"No problem. We'll see ya."

As soon as the door shuts behind her, Bob pounces on his master. "It's her! It's her! It...it was Winifred the whole time! I was with...oh god..."

"Definitely interesting. Fate's a funny thing, huh?"

"Fate gave her back to me," Bob breathes. He then sees the drawing of himself and Murphy, looking for all the world like an ordinary couple, very much in love. Harry picks it up, smooths it out, and lays it on the kitchen counter.

"You're right, Bob. That sure explains a whole lot, especially how you two took to each other so fast. I'm glad you got her back."

The old ghost beams, throwing his arms around himself in rapture. "I keep telling myself to wish her a long and healthy life, but it's hard sometimes when I want to hold her so badly!"

Harry nods, "Well, that will happen soon enough."

One day after they're closing up shop, Bob lurks in the corner examining his hands. His mouth is drawn into a pensive pout, twisting his ring around. "I wish I could give it to her," he finally announces.

Harry looks up with a crude remark ready at his lips, but it dies away when he sees his friend's expression. "Your ring?"

Bob nods. "I got it from...well, I don't think _she_ would mind."

"No, I don't think she would, either, especially considering..."

The reminder brings a smile to Bob's face. "In that case, I definitely want her to have it."

Walking the line between sentimentality and realism, Harry points out, "Well, until you figure out how to do that, we'll have to make do with more mundane ways." Bob looks up in surprise, not quite following. "I mean, we could make her a replica. But how do we get it the right size?"

With a knowing smirk, the ghost announces, "That's easy!" With a fiery ripple, he transforms into Lt. Murphy and examines himself with a sinister-sounding chuckle. When he speaks, he sounds like a surreal mix between the two of them. "Oh, Dresden, isn't she lovely?" He draws his hands down himself, wholly approving of his changed form.

Harry has seen Bob do this often enough; he's even turned himself into Harry at one point to mock his slovenly appearance. Seeing him as Murphy, though, gives him pause. "Um, okay. All right. Now we just have to get one of those things they do ring measurements with."

"We can't afford to get anything from an actual jeweler," Bob reminds him. Murphy's voice sounds decidedly odd with Bob's tone and accent attached to it.

"They have rock and gem shows around here sometimes. A lot of places do custom-made pieces. We just need some finger measurements and I'll see what I can come up with.

About a week later, Murphy is at her desk at the station when a pair of vans pulls up just outside. The first man walks in, checks his clipboard and scans the room. "Lieutenant Murphy?"

She stands, "That's me."

The man walks up and delivers a small package. She signs for it but doesn't even have time to feel curious, because another calls for her. Again, she stands and waves him over. The florist delivery man deposits a large vase of white roses and lavender on her desk. A small sprig of tiny white flowers is tied up in the bow around the vase. She admires the flowers, inhaling their sweet fragrance, before turning to her package. She unwraps it and finds a small, square box. Removing the lid, she draws a gasp of recognition. It's a perfect oval-shaped polished red jasper. The setting is simple but elegant. Silver gleams in quiet loveliness around the stone. There is a note under it which reads, "Wear this" in Bob's hand. Somehow knowing that this is her engagement ring, she slides it coolly onto her left ring finger and admires it, thinking of its twin that rests on her lover's hand.

Back at the office, Harry and Bob are watching the clock nervously, waiting...then the phone rings.

"Harry Dresden, wizard for hire."

"Tell him I'm wearing it! And thank you."

"Glad you like it, Mrs. Bainbridge."

"I'll be over as soon as I can."

_click_

Harry grins over at Bob. "That was your fiancee." Bob brightens up. "She likes the ring, and she'll be over later today."

"Oh, my sweet Stanzi!" he intones. "She's wearing my ring! And soon...soon we'll be together! We need to celebrate. We need to do something, give the skull a good spring cleaning. I'd hate for her to find it a mess."

"Calm down!" Harry reminds him, grinning as a plan hatches. He'll have to think of a way to get Bob out of the way for a bit while he executes his surprise. He has a little pot of gold paint and a fine brush, ready to inscribe the interior of the skull with blessings, in direct contrast to the curses scrawled into the exterior. He supposes that he'll have time tonight, with Murphy to keep Bob occupied. "She'll be with you permanently all in good time. The last thing we want is to rush that part, remember?"

Little does Harry know how truly he has spoken. His words come back to mock him less than a year later. He stands at the crime scene over Murphy's body. Krimani pats him awkwardly on the back as they zip her up and take her to the morgue. She'd been crossing the street when a taxi came barreling through the red light, driving like a maniac. It struck her, sent her flying, and she landed on the concrete, breaking her neck instantly. The driver is in custody. Open and shut case. Harry turns to Krimani; both men are total wrecks. "She was the best," he mutters dryly. The other man nods, sniffling himself.

Harry drives home in a daze, letting the car find its way. In no time at all, he's walking through the door. He locks it and collapses on the couch. Hours pass and he doesn't budge. Then, he sees something strange...a silvery-blue light with a glittery trail undulates through the air, passing through the wall and into the lab. Harry gets up and follows, banging the door on his way in.

"Hey, Bob? Did you see some Tinkerbell-looking thing come in here?"

When he gets no reply, he peeks into the eye holes and sees two glimmers of light, one orange that was Bob, and one silver-blue.

"Murphy?" he whispers, hardly daring to hope. In his shock and grief, he's completely forgotten about her promise to return. Both spirits zoom out of the skull and take on human form.

"Hmm..." Bob purrs unctuously, "Somebody's been sleeping in my skull! And here she is!" He takes her hands in his, stroking them, kissing her fingers. His breath comes in heavy gulps as he brings her hands to his face. "My Stanzi..."

Murphy smiles languidly, touching her beloved's face. His eyes close in bliss, barely able to remember the last time a woman touched him. Then he does the same for her. They find if they spring at each other like wild animals, like they both want to, it would be too much to cope with at first. Easing into it is the only way to go. They just touch each other, giggling lightly. Before they get too far, Harry clears his throat.

"Murphy..."

"Oh, Harry! I saw you there. You found my body."

"Yeah," he croaks.

"Well, I'm okay. I'm dead, but I'm okay." Harry nods awkwardly.

"I'll just leave you to it, okay?"

"Harry..." Murphy stops him, reaching for him but passing right through. "Whoa, this is going to take some getting used to."

"Don't worry, my dear, I'll help you if I can," Bob promises, keeping a firm grip on her shoulders. He bends down and rubs his cheek against her shoulder, her hair, bringing his hands down around her middle as he lays wet kisses along the back of her neck.

"Harry, thank you. And I'm sorry you had to see that." And then she gives in to Bob's tender ministrations. She feels warm and soft all over. With a soft moan, she turns around and drapes herself into Bob's waiting arms.

Harry shakes his head with a grin and exits the lab, glad those two are finally together properly. He sorts through his bills and other paperwork out front, occasionally turning his head toward the lab when he hears pleasurable moans and cries. After about three hours, it goes completely quiet. With his work done, he goes back into the lab to check out the situation. He taps on the skull. Then he hears Bob's voice.

"Now don't you move a muscle, darling. I'll be right back. Oh, god, I missed you!" And the skull echos with dark laughter and love-noises from them both. Harry raises his eyebrows and leaves again, waving his hand in dismissive defiance. "Ghosts..."

A little while later, they come back out, thankfully dressed although looking appropriately creased and rumpled.

"Sorry for that, Dresden, hope we didn't put you off," Bob apologizes smoothly, still with his nose buried in his beloved's hair. Murphy has placed her hands over his, and strokes up and down Bob's arms as they hang around her.

"Hey, carry on with your love-in. You're on your own time," Harry grunts, now wondering how this is going to affect his work. Ever since Bob and Murphy became an item, they've been able to keep things at least halfway professional, which, admittedly, was par for the course in his book. Still, Bob having a girlfriend and Bob having a dead live-in lover are two different things. He hopes it doesn't ruin the dynamics of their working relationship. He wonders if he'll ever get any sleep again with these two tirelessly making love all day. "Look, I know you have a lot of catching up to do," he begins, getting uncomfortable laughter for his troubles. "But during office hours, I hope you can behave yourselves. _And_ when I'm trying to sleep!" Feeling he's effectively laid down the law, he points to both of them sternly.

"Perfectly reasonable, don't you think, my dear?"

"Oh yeah, sure, we'll be good."

Bob twitches his nose at her adorably, "You'll be better than _good_, I'm sure," he purrs before claiming her lips again.

Rolling his eyes, Harry stomps upstairs. For the first time in a long time, he has no desire to take the skull with him to bed.

The next morning, Harry wakes up to the sound of an argument-

"It's not important, Bob!"

"Not important?! Your liberty isn't important?! Stanzi, darling, I wanted you to come, I wanted you to join me but not...not like this!" He grabs her by the wrist and holds it up. Her wrists are bound in ornate silver cuffs just like Bob's. "You're innocent, you don't deserve to share my curse!"

With a quirk of her lips, she places her hands on Bob's shoulders, "We have each other. What curse?"

"I mean it, Stanzi, I'm being serious. You can't...you didn't know what you were saying. You can't have meant for this!"

"It's not like they hurt or anything."

"That's beside the point, my dear! They're a symbol, they're a manifestation of punishment!"

"I don't care!" Murphy puts her hands on her hips. "What difference does it make?!"

"Difference? What difference? Only the difference between a free soul and a chained one! I didn't want this for you, pet. I would never hold you to such an agreement. God...all those times I gazed at your symbol on that thing, drawing comfort from it, from knowing you'd be joining me. I'm despicable. All that time I was counting the days until your death and...imprisonment." He catches her hands in his, kissing her fingers reverently. "My darling, my pet. You don't know how long I've waited for you to come back to me. But I cannot allow it! Stanzi, I...I release you from your agreement. I won't have you sharing my fate!"

At his words, her cuffs fall from her wrists with a _clang!_ Then they evaporate like smoke. The doors fly open and a bright golden light floods the doorway.

Murphy looks fearfully at the Great Beyond, clutching at Bob's hands. "No, please! Don't send me away. I can't! We're finally together! Hrothbert, please. I've waited so long to come back to you," she begs, her voice skewing strangely, her eyes flickering green for just a moment...

That glimpse of his former love nearly unseats him, but he hardens his resolve. "Go on...you must. Go where you belong." He gives her a gentle shove towards the light, and she's gone.

Harry sees the whole thing from the stairs. "Wow," he huffs. Bob turns away and flies back into the sanctuary of his curse-laden skull. Harry creeps down and scoops it up, cuddling it to his heart. "You did the right thing, Bob. That was a very selfless thing to do."

Murphy finds herself in the presence of two tall, golden figures. As she draws nearer to them, they both flinch back, covering their faces with their sleeves.

"Oh, my word! She's filthy!"

"The poor thing," the other remarks sympathetically. "Don't you worry, my child, we'll have you safe and sound and cleaned up before you know it."

Murphy looks at herself, "Filthy?"

"You've been...contaminated."

"Tainted," the other one shudders. "You're listed as being pure! How did such a thing happen?"

"Like you've been dragged through a demon's nest! Never fear, you'll be all better in just a moment."

"Demon's nest? You mean Bob? Hrothbert?"

The figures quail at the name. "You're familiar with Hrothbert of Bainbridge? The unspeakable necromancer? You're either very brave, or very foolish, dear girl. Now come with us. Everything is going to be fine."

Their words do nothing to reassure her, and she pulls away. "I don't think I want to come with you, if that's the way you're going to talk about the man I love. He's not a demon,: he's a good man. He's kind and funny and smart and sweet to me. He's the only man to treat me like a lady in my whole life!" With that, she turns and walks away from them.

"But, Miss Murphy, where are you going?"

One of the figures points at the clipboard in the other's hand. The name Connie Murphy vanishes, replaced with Stanzi Bainbridge.

"Home, to my demon's nest!"

As she takes her leave, one of the figures ponders aloud. "I remember that soul. She'd been tainted by the necromancer, too. Even worse than she was this time! A sorceress, she'd been slain, then that Dark one raised her from the dead! Now it seems she's ended up in his snares again. Poor creature, to be bound to such a fate."

"She doesn't seem to mind."

They shake their heads in disappointment and vanish.

Still in an angry huff, she storms through the door of Dresden's home. "How rude!" she cries in disgust. She looks straight at Harry, who is staring at her with his mouth hanging open. "Harry, I don't know if you know this, but angels are dicks!"

Unsurprised, Harry nods, "Some of them probably are."

"Bob! Bob, I'm home!" she calls. He wafts out, amazed! She flings herself into his arms, sighing with relief as she feels her bonds have returned. Bob pries her off gently, examining them again with a disappointed air.

"Stanzi, darling. What, what? I sent you home."

"And I _came_ home," she asserts. "Heaven doesn't want me and Hell is afraid I'd take over."

"But...but you're...chained," he rubs her wrist, bringing her hand up to his face, filled with pity for her.

Unconcerned, she shakes her head, "Bob, they don't mean that to me. They're not a sign of servitude or punishment."

"That's very sweet of you to say, but what are they?"

Murphy smiles up at him playfully. "Wedding rings?"

"Wedding rings..."

She nods, looping her arms around his neck, bringing him down for a kiss.

The End


End file.
